Next Time it Rains
by Uta Burke
Summary: "Prequel to Walking Dead": 28-year old bartender Zari helps her boss Mort (Daryl) follow his dream to become an actor while she goes after the number one item on her own bucket list which takes her half-way around the world. But first they have to solve the issue of Mort's devastating fear of thunderstorms... Boy emotion, past lives, humor, adventure, love


Chapter 1

"Wow, this is nice!"

Mort raised his head to look at the woman who had just stepped into his bar. He took all of her in with one glance even though the bar, his bar, was dark like a dungeon. She was built like an Amazon, but with a face so soft and round it reminded him of a young girl's. He observed her crinkly mouse-colored hair. It appeared she had straightened it, but it was losing the battle with nature. She had solid hips and the beginnings of a belly roll; small tits.

"I love it!" the child-woman exclaimed. She approached Mort, beamed at him, and held out her hand. "Zari."

He stuck the cigarette he was holding into a corner of his mouth and reluctantly shook her hand. "Mort. Nice to meet you."

"Is the barkeeper job still available?"

The old man who sat at the end of the counter answered for him. "It sure is. I'd take that one," he said, winking at Mort.

Mort looked dismayed. "Uh, I was actually looking for a bar man, you see."

Zari's face fell just a little. "But this would be perfect. I love basement bars. They are so mysterious; forbidden, like a speakeasy. I already feel like I belong here. Could you please reconsider?" Her doe-brown eyes bored into him.

He took his time responding. "What experience do you have?"

"Oh, I just graduated from Bartending School. Here." She handed him a framed certificate. "Best of class," she added when she noticed his reluctance. "I can make twenty-one drinks in twenty minutes. Only two mistakes, honest."

He handed the frame back to her. "What days do you have classes?"

"What classes? Oh, you mean like, school? I graduated from the University of Oregon years ago."

"You did?" He sounded incredulous. "You look like you're still in high school."

Zari laughed. It sounded like a twinkling bell; clear and high and happy. She had the most beautiful laugh Mort had ever heard. He immediately decided to hate it.

"I'm twenty-eight!"

He was stunned. How could she only be two years younger than him?

"No kids, no husband. I can work whenever. Are you letting your hair grow?" she asked.

The old man slapped his thigh. He was enjoying this immensely. "It covers his scar. Mort, give me another one. Helen will just have to worry about why I'm late today." He pushed his glass across the counter. Turning to Zari, he announced, "You're hired."

Mort took out his cigarette. "Now wait a minute. I'm the boss around here. I decide who gets hired or not." He pushed a beer in the old man's direction. "You've never worked in a bar? Let's hope you're a quick learner. If I don't like it, you're out. No explanation. All right?"

Zari pressed her fists to her mouth and bounced on the balls of her feet. "I got the job?!"

Mort nodded brusquely. "We'll give it a try. When can you start?"

Zari ran behind the counter and threw herself around his neck. "Thank you, thank you, thank you. I knew bartending school was a good idea. I can start now if you want."

He pushed her away almost violently. "You're welcome. And no more hugging, okay? I'm allergic to women."

She wasn't the least bit insulted. "Ooh, tough boy. So much better than a Milquetoast. But you don't have to like me. I know I'm awesome. My parents love me, my sister loves me, all my aunts and uncles love me. I am not needy."

"Glad to hear. They all live around here?"

"Oh, no. They're all back in Oregon. I'm the only one who moved to the East Coast."

"What brought you to this hellhole of a town?" Mort asked.

"Fate. And a Greyhound bus. Man, it was awesome. I've met so many people –"

"I'm sure you did. Here." Mort threw her a towel. "Start with the glasses. I want them to sparkle."

Zari winked at the old man. "Thanks for putting in a good word for me."

"No need to thank me. He would have hired you anyway. He just didn't know it." The old man tipped his hat. "I'll leave you two alone. See you tomorrow."

Chapter 2

Mort's bar was bigger than it appeared from the outside. There was a pool table and a couple dart machines against the wall in the annex where people would sit and talk, but other than popcorn and mixed nuts, there was no menu. People came mainly to drink. The atmosphere appealed more to men than to couples, like a man cave or an all-male garage, and that's how Mort liked it. He hoped Zari wouldn't mess up the vibe of the place.

When Mort secretly checked her out again, he noted with relief that even though she was dressed in tight blue jeans, black boots reaching above her knees, a studded belt and an off-the-shoulder top, Zari's choice of clothing actually exaggerated her masculine look. And in the dim light, her face looked young; babyish even, which was a stark contrast to the rest of her body. She wasn't trying to be cute and seemed totally at ease with herself. She did not put off the air of attempting to lure a mate.

Mort was surprised he felt drawn to her. No, he would stick to his plan and swear off women forever; if not longer. The scar above his left eye was a constant reminder of their jealous nature, his almost depleted bank account another sign that women cared more about material things than what actually mattered in life. He'd been with plenty of women, young and old, but none of them had been keepers, so he had given up about a year ago and put all his energy into his bar. He felt it was a good deal. He was his own boss, and at night he went home to no nagging wife or screaming kids, but his ever-grateful mutt, Tolstoi.

When Zari was done polishing glasses, Mort said, "You can stay if you want to get a feel for the place. Starting tomorrow, you'll work from six every night 'til closing. Six to two, and closed on Mondays. How does that sound?"

"That sounds great. I can sleep in, go to a movie, _and_ take my dance classes. What kind of crowd do you usually get, Mort?"

"I open at four, so the first guys are the suits who stop in after work. They need a place free of females to regroup before facing the wife and kids. Once they leave, the regulars arrive; men mostly."

"Is it like a real bar scene, with fighting and stuff?"

Mort lit another cigarette. "Well, we do have fighting, but it's controlled." He pointed his chin to a door on the right. "Over there. That's the extra room for, you know, meetings and stuff. We have a fight club come here once a week. It won't concern you, of course."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"I mean, do you fight?"

"Not with the club; I just watch, but sometimes I have to break up a real fight. You just stay out of the way when that happens."

"Where'd you get that scar from?" Zari asked. "Under your fringe. Looks serious."

He moved the cigarette to the other side of his mouth. "None of your business."

"Oooh, I see. A woman scratched you up. Wow, you must have done something real bad."

"Did you come here to chit-chat or work? Wipe down the counter and when I come back, you can start pouring the drinks." Mort went to the back room and closed the door.

The next evening, the old man who "hired" Zari came in just as the rain started. He shook out his umbrella and placed it in the stand by the door before he removed his hat and greeted Zari like an old friend.

"Good to see you again, young lady. By the way, I'm Walter. You'll be seeing a lot of me, I'm afraid. I hope you'll get used to us." He winked at her. "Mort is half as mean as he tries to appear."

Mort growled in protest.

Zari winked back at him. "That's good to know. I'm not afraid of him." She looked out the window. "Oooh, I love the rain."

"Then you're at the right place. It rains here a lot," Mort said.

"How often is a lot?"

"Two-three times a week, just about."

"That's not much. Where I come from, it rains pretty much every day." Zari spun around, singing, "I'm singing in the rain, I'm dancing in the rain..."

"Why do you like rain?" Mort asked, frowning.

"It gives me a reason to stay inside, build a fire, bundle up, and watch old movies. And have sex... lots of delicious sex!"

Mort stopped pouring the beer for the old man. "You're with somebody?"

"No. Actually, I'm with everybody. Whoever wants to have great, satisfying, earth-shattering sex; no strings attached."

"Really, you're a whore?" Mort asked.

"No! I don't charge. I just love doing it. It's the best feeling in the world."

"Let me get this right. Straight-forward, casual, no strings attached?" Mort probed. "No ring, no curfew, no kids?"

Zari shook her head to every question, laughing. "No, just chocolate."

"Ahh. What kind of chocolate?"

"Milk chocolate, the good kind."

The old man grinned into his beer. "Count me out. I've found my woman." However, he raised an encouraging eyebrow at Mort.

Mort grunted, not pleased with where the conversation was going.

Zari looked at Mort openly, without a trace of accusation. "Why are you always miserable?" she asked.

"Because I like it that way. And it keeps the women away."

She let out a beautiful laugh. "You don't like women?"

"Nope."

"None of them?"

"Yep."

"I wouldn't have pegged you as gay."

He shot her a withering look. "I am the farthest thing from being gay."

The old man chuckled. "Our Mortimer sounds like a virgin."

Now he received the glaring look. "And I am most certainly not a virgin. I've just had it with women. It's always the same, money this, drama that, without giving a damn to what's really important. Don't get me started."

Zari changed the subject. "You'll never guess what my name is short for."

Mort rolled his eyes. "What could it possibly be short for? Sarah, right?"

"Wrong. Zarathustra. You didn't expect that, did you?" She looked at him with twinkling eyes.

He frowned. "No, I didn't expect that. Your parents were hippies or something?"

"Everyone is where I come from. It means star and princess in different languages, but I think I'm more of an angel."

"No woman I ever met was an angel. More like a hell bitch."

"You must attract the wrong kind. So, what do you do when you need it?"

"Huh?"

"Like, when you need relief. What do you do?"

Mort propped his arms on the counter and hung his head in mock exasperation. "What all men do; I take a cold shower. What do you do?"

"I do it myself. Or with a man, of course. It's fun."

He grinned. "Whom do you think of when you do it yourself?"

"No one in particular. Or maybe someone special. Who do you think of?"

His expression darkened again. "No one, just the act itself. With a headless woman."

"Oh, right. The perfect woman."

"What do you mean?"

"No head, no mouth to yap out of. Men don't want to talk when they do it."

"True. You seem quite experienced."

"I have fun."

"With someone in particular?" the old man asked, looking in Mort's direction.

Mort kept wiping the counter and pretended not to be interested.

"Not right now, but that's okay. Women don't need men," Zari said lightheartedly.

The old man was surprised. "My generation needed men, good men. Did that change?" He pushed his beer to the side and leaned in to listen.

Zari bent toward him and grinned. "Yes, that's changed. Women have their own income now. They don't need to get pregnant if they don't want to, they can take out their own trash, _and_ , without men telling them what to do, they can go out whenever and with whomever, not cook, not worry about their weight and they can wear regular underwear whenever they want to."

The old man slapped his knees, laughing. "You're a piece of work, Sarah, you are. Son, seems you're shit out of luck."

She let him get away with calling her by the wrong name. "Oh no, it's not like that. We still want them for sex. Deep, fulfilling, mind boggling sex."

The old man finished his beer, got up, and left an extra tip. "Okay, that's it for me. The little woman is waiting." He put on his hat, grabbed his umbrella, and left the two to themselves.

Chapter 3

After a short, awkward silence, Mort asked, "So by deep, you mean it has to be long?" He blushed and let the fringe fall over his face.

"Not at all. Deep, passionate, I mean, not superficial. Why are you asking?"

"No reason." He scratched the back of his head, considering what to say next. "Are you serious about the no-strings-attached romp in the sack?"

"Absolutely."

They stared at each other.

Mort's voice turned hoarse. "When?"

She touched her chin with the pencil and thought about it. "Mmm, next time it rains," she said lightly. "In the little hotel on Broad Street. We can hear the rain falling on the tin roof."

He raised an eyebrow. "What if it's during bar hours?"

"We'll put the 'Closed' sign out. Or ask one of the regulars to cover for us. It's not far."

"Okay, next time it rains then."

They worked side by side, thinking this over. He broke the silence first.

"Am I to bring flowers? Or the chocolate?"

"You don't have to. You can bring the chocolate here."

"What should I wear?"

She smoked him over. He wore black jeans and a well-fitting black button down shirt. "Black looks good. Wear what you want. Maybe a t-shirt instead of a formal shirt. I am not dressing up. Not even lingerie. So don't show up expecting it."

He grinned. "Okay, no presents, no lingerie. Shower and shave only. Got it." Suddenly he stopped drying the glass he was holding. "What about kissing, though?"

They looked at each other from across the counter.

"Let me see your lips," she demanded. "As long as they're not too thin or dry."

He leaned closer, making a duck face.

"They're kind of thin, but sensuous. Okay to kiss," she said.

"Let me see yours," he said and she leaned closer.

"Hmm, okay," he concluded. "So that's settled. What about calling out our names in ecstasy?"

"I usually don't but whatever gets you off. Anything else? It's really quite simple, I promise."

He shrugged but didn't answer. They continued cleaning up, but she sensed there was something left unspoken.

"Anything else you want to know before... it rains?"

"No, why?"

"I just get the feeling something is bothering you."

He stopped polishing the counter and looked at her sideways. "Sometimes...when it rains, it comes with thunder. I have a little issue with that, so if we're at the place, I, you know...might not be able to do what I want to do." He stared across the room, noticeably embarrassed.

"Are you afraid of thunderstorms? That is so adorable.

He grunted. "Why's that adorable? It sucks."

"Girls like to discover a man's a teeny tiny weakness. It makes their caretaker instincts kick in."

"I don't need care taking. And one more thing: never, under any circumstances ever, will it happen in this bar, okay? This is my sacred place."

"Oh, you mean having sex here with me would desecrate it?" She clicked her heels together and saluted. "Aye, aye, Captain. Never in the bar. And we split the hotel room charges."

He nodded. "If that's how you want it, fine by me."

She turned away and shrugged, mumbling, "Men. Making a big deal of something as natural as sex. Sheesh."

Chapter 4

On Friday night, the men arrived to fight each other in the back room where Mort stored extra cases of specialty beers and a rack of wine. An area was roped off in the corner and a single light bulb dangled from the ceiling. They wanted to make it look as unappealing to outsiders as possible. Women were absolutely forbidden to watch. It was the last domain they could claim as their own, and to the men, it was hallowed space.

Zari accidentally walked in getting a beer for a customer in the middle of a fight. When the men realized Zari was in the room, they shrieked like little girls and smashed the light bulb so she couldn't see anything. The air smelled of sweat and blood. It grossed her out.

"Idiots," she mumbled as Mort grabbed her by the arm and yanked her out the door.

"Don't you dare go calling them idiots," he hissed. "You have no idea how important this is. None. Without this, these ladies," he indicated to a group of loud women whom he told her were the wives," would get the brunt of their misery, understand? At least when they're done tonight, they'll feel like men, and the women get treated like ladies at home.

"I doubt that severely," Zari responded. "What they'll get at home is a boring tale of who lost the most blood or a tooth, and who needed stitches and who wimped out. The wives can't watch or help. All they are allowed to do is drag them home and tend to their wounds. Nothing has changed since Neanderthal times. And the women have to pretend to be in awe of their heroes, thinking what a bunch of idiots they are, and why did they get married in the first place? I heard them talk. And you're telling me all these men in there," Zari pointed with her chin toward the door, "are frustrated with their lives... how do you explain so much unhappiness on both sides?"

"Simple; marriage. Their manliness has been compromised by having to oblige to the wife and kids that need to be carried to and from their idiotic activities. The furniture comes assembled from the store. The meat is dressed and ready for the frying pan. Smoking is forbidden. The Wild West has been conquered. Men have been robbed of their purpose. All they have left is the fight and football, the last Big Frontier. All these guys in there are just trying to get back that lost feeling; thanks to bitches and civilization."

Zari leaned across the counter and said, "You see these women over there – they call themselves the 'Unhappy Wives Club.' You think only the guys are miserable in a marriage? They feel unappreciated, unloved, and all of them say they married too young or settled instead of waiting for the right one. And once the wedding was over and real life set in they met their soul mates. But now they're stuck because of the kids. Ain't that a tragedy?"

"I'll tell you what the real tragedy is. It's the goddamn confusion about you women. Growing up, boys need to be badass to attract girls. Then they need to change into the exact opposite to keep the girls interested. They have to change into selfless fathers and compliant husbands. Why do you think marriage is so hard?"

"Wrong expectations on both sides. I wonder what the solution would be? Leaving doesn't work. Second marriages can be just as doomed. I've seen it," Zari mused. "Staying single, doing whatever the hell you want, and paying for sex is my solution; with chocolate," she finished. "That's not the real answer though. The pressure of getting married before a certain age, and the stigma society attaches to a single woman is enough to make girls believe it's better to be with the wrong guy than to be alone."

"How come you're not succumbing to said pressure?"

"I'm not ready. I want to see the world before I commit. And, last but not least..." She put her hands on her hips for emphasis. "I don't plan on having children. So there's no rush. If I find my soulmate at fifty, that's plenty soon enough." Zari grabbed a full tray and carried it to the ladies table.

The six women, wives of the men so eagerly beating the crap out of each other, were in the middle of a heated argument. Zari eavesdropped as she served them, and their conversation emphasized what she and Mort were just talking about. All six of them agreed that they married too young or settled for the wrong guy out of fear of staying single.

"How about you?" one of them asked Zari.

"I'm not in love with anyone, and I am perfectly happy being on my own."

That generated a round of genuine applause.

"I wish I had been that smart," a pretty blonde said. "All my friends and I got married right out of college because it was the thing to do. One after the other dragged their boyfriend to the altar. Then everyone got pregnant. One, two, three kids popped out before we had time to think it through. One morning, I woke up in a cold sweat. What had I done? How would we be able to afford them? We needed bigger cars, a bigger house, save for college; the husband had to work longer hours and sex went out the window. By the time we turned thirty, most of my friends were divorced, and Mike and I are on our last leg, too. That's why I come here with him, pretending to support him being a man." The blonde grunted. "I envy you, I really do. Give me one damn good reason why a woman today needs to be married. Cause I sure as hell can't think of one."

The others agreed, nodding their heads. "Zari, you should be our fucking mascot. You've got the guts and the smarts to wait until you're ready. How about it?" a stunning, middle-aged, red-haired woman said. "If you feel the pressure to hook up with someone and you're not sure, give us a call. We'll talk you out of it in no time."

They raised their glasses and cheered. Zari laughed. She couldn't wait to tell Mort.

"Well, well, well. Guess what," she announced when they had a minute together. "The 'Unhappy Wives' nominated me as their mascot because I am not afraid to be alone, and I am living my life my way. So you see, it's not just the men who feel this way." She twirled in front of him as he frowned, then skipped away laughing before he could stink up her mood.

An hour later, eight men emerged from the back room looking as if they just returned from a war. Yet, they were visibly pleased. They presented themselves proudly to their wives, who oohed and aahed in mock admiration.

The two men who didn't have wives sat at the bar. They looked worse than the rest of them combined. Zari found that odd since they were single and shouldn't have the same need for senseless beatings as their married counterparts. They asked for two beers and Zari put the glasses in front of them.

"Do you need some Band-Aid's?" she asked sweetly, in full hearing range of her boss.

He glared at her, but she ignored him. The men waved away her question. She couldn't stop.

"Since you don't have anyone to take care of you at home, you know."

"We're good. Don't worry your pretty, little head over it. Well, never mind..." one of them said and poked the other one, grinning."

They snorted, looking in Zari's direction.

"Pretty my ass," the second guy mumbled.

Zari blushed. Not since high school had someone been that blunt about her frizzy hair and plain looks. She felt a familiar pain in her heart and fought back tears, hoping her boss hadn't heard the remark. She hated feeling embarrassed and turned away. That's when she saw the feisty red-head standing behind her. She had heard everything and now pulled Zari aside.

"Don't you pay any attention to these fuckin' morons, you hear? I mean, look at them. They're no prize, either. When's your day off?"

"Mondays," Zari said, choking back tears.

"That's my day off, too. Do you have any mornings during the week that you're free?"

"Yes, most mornings. I don't start here until six at night." Zari wiped a sleeve across her eyes. She couldn't help tearing up.

"Great. Come see me on Wednesday. I own a beauty salon. We'll take care of you. By the way, my name is Angie. Here is my card. Ten o'clock Wednesday would be perfect. I'll give you a makeover like you've never seen before."

"Thanks," Zari stammered, running a hand through her hair, which was held back in a ponytail. "Are you sure you can do something with this mess?"

"You bet. And don't take these fuckin' jackasses seriously. Looks can be changed, but acting like an asshole is forever." Angie winked at her and walked back to her table.

Mort approached and asked, "What was that all about?"

"None of your business," she said. "But you have some jerk customers, just so you know."

Zari avoided Mort the rest of the night. He left her alone, and they cleaned up in silence. She took a cab to her apartment. Roberta, Zari's tiger-striped cat, greeted her at the door, and she picked her up and pressed her face into her fur. Zari fell asleep cuddling Roberta, tears drying on her cheeks.

When she awoke on Saturday, the light in her bedroom was gray and dreary. She lazily pulled the quilt up to her nose and stretched. Then she realized that IT RAINED. She shot up and reached for her cell phone on the nightstand. No message from Mort yet.

 **Chapter 5**

Zari took a long shower, massaged her favorite lotion on her skin, and topped it off with a generous spritz of perfume. She was determined to look and feel her best; not just today for her rendezvous if he really followed through with the plan, but any day. She smiled at her image in the mirror, but it felt fake. Last night's comments still hurt, even though she had once been used to snide remarks about her looks and learned not to let it get to her too much. It just made her more determined to accept herself for who she was and to hell with others. She was an independent woman who earned her own money and didn't need anyone's approval. She was proud of that fact. Nevertheless, she decided to take Angie up on her offer and get a makeover, just for herself. She deserved it.

A message came in on her phone. It was from Mort. "U up for it?"

They arrived at the 'Rosemont' thirteen minutes apart. Zari signed in at the front desk and waited in the room where she stretched out on the round, comfy bed. The room was accented in black and rose colors, and managed to look dignified; not like a motel room to be rented by the hour.

Zari had stopped by the day before and asked to be shown a few rooms so she could pick the one she liked best. When she saw the tin awning above the window of the room she was in now, she knew it was theirs. They could hear the rain drum on the roof just like she had imagined. Why she chose rainy days for their love sessions, she didn't know. The answer just came to her when they talked about sex. The mattress was firm, not weak and hardly creaked when she sat down.

She visualized Mort in his standard black clothes, covering every inch of his body. He didn't have an ounce of fat on him as far as she knew; unless there was a little pouch underneath his well-tailored shirts that she hadn't noticed. What she liked best were his thighs. They were strong and muscular, the way she loved them on a guy. His longish, almost black hair and blue eyes were an irresistible combination in her opinion. Her boss was a hot guy, she concluded with delicious satisfaction.

Zari's phone dinged. Mort was in the lobby. She sent him the room number and waited, enjoying the anticipation of what a first-time encounter with a new man could bring. Anything was possible. How would he behave in bed? Would he be as grumpy and reserved as usual? Zari hoped he wasn't aggressive or perverse, but rather a bit on the shy side. He tried so hard to come across as a tough guy but she didn't quite believe it. There was a certain insecurity beneath his rough look and demeanor and, like most women, she knew that because she could sense it. Her thoughts now wandered to what underwear he might be wearing, if he wore any at all, when she heard a timid rap on the door.

"Hold on," Zari said. She jumped up and fluffed her hair on the way to the door. Neat was the opposite of sexy, she decided a long time ago; the messier, the more inviting to touch. She felt good about the way she looked. To hell with the jerks from last night.

Mort, dressed in black jeans and a rock band t-shirt under his leather jacket, held a foil-wrapped rose, looking embarrassed. "Hey," he said and stuck his present into her face.

"Hey, Mort," she said and touched the rose to her lips. "Mmm, yummy. You got both covered; the chocolate and the flowers. Smart."

He blushed. "Is that okay? I mean, it's not tacky, is it?"

She smiled, knowing at that moment that they would have a splendid time. He would be as grateful as a puppy dog earning treat after treat from his pleased owner.

"It's perfect. Thanks, Mort. Come in," she said and stepped to the side. "What do you think?"

He put down his keys on one of the dressers and looked around. "Very nice," he said, but he avoided looking at the huge, round bed in the middle of the room.

"Listen, can you hear it? The raindrops falling on the tin roof, just as I imagined. The sound comforts me. How about you?"

"As long as it doesn't thunder, it sounds all right," he admitted hoarsely and shrugged off his jacket. He pushed fringe behind both ears but it wasn't long enough to stay. He stuck his hands into his pockets, took them out and rubbed them along the side of his jeans, not making eye contact.

Mort was nervous. Zari had to admit it felt a little weird meeting each other in a hotel room after they spent every evening working side by side at the bar. Playfully talking about doing it was certainly different than following through, no matter how mature and open-minded they were. He would come to love their arrangement once he got used to it because she was highly sensuous and every touch, however slight, made her shiver. Men loved gratifying her and they always found delicious pleasure themselves. His nervousness added extra electricity to the atmosphere. She herself was at ease because she knew full well what she liked, and how to enjoy her body.

Zari sat on the bed, swinging her legs. He stayed firmly planted on the spot.

"Come here," she beckoned.

Mort detoured to the window and looked up at the sky, gauging the clouds. She joined him and looked down to the people hurrying along the wet pavement. She slipped her arm around him and rested her hand on the small of his back. His posture stiffened, then slowly relaxed. He turned toward her and finally looked at her, his back pressing slightly against her hand. She leaned her head against his shoulder, and with the tip of his finger, he touched her chin and lifted it up. Their lips met, soft and warm, parting immediately to find their tongues.

Zari kissed him with her eyes fully open. His were closed at first but he must have felt her looking at him and opened his. They widened for an instant in genuine surprise, and he backed away slightly, but not for long and then he kept his eyes open, too. She pushed up his t-shirt behind his back and pulled it over his head. She didn't want to linger on what he might deem obligatory kisses which could turn their get-together's into more than they were intended, which was to take care of nature's strongest urge. His hands cupped her buttocks and squeezed. She led him to the bed, dimmed the lamp on the nightstand, slipped under the covers and took off her top.

In the semi-darkness, Zari watched Mort unbuckle his belt and undo the buttons of his fly. Before he slipped in beside her, he took off his socks and dropped them on the floor. She countered by unhooking her bra and lowered it to the floor next to them, then she pulled off her jeans, keeping her panties on. There was no hurry and she let him decide the next move. His hands reached for her breasts, caressing them tenderly before they slid down to her hips, and around back to her spine, which gave her another delicate shudder. His warm hand glided over her buttocks, lingering before his nails scraped up her spine to the top of her head while she grunted with pleasure. If she were a cat, she would be purring already. Her skin was covered in goosebumps, and every touch, whether rubbing the bridge of her nose or the soles of her feet, shot tingles straight to her center, her most sensitive part. He must have realized how sensuous she was, and she heard his breathing accelerate. Now his hand moved again, around the inside of her thighs, inside her panties, searching for her clit. When he found it, he started massaging it gently while he nuzzled her ear with his warm breath. She thought she would pass out.

"Don't – stop - what - you're - doing," Zari gasped, and opened her thighs to grant him better access.

With her right hand, she searched for Mort's fly, reaching inside to get a hold of his dick. She was surprised by its size and thickness, and the incredible smoothness on top, already slippery with pre-cum. He felt amazing. His hips moved rhythmically as she held onto his penis, like a teenager in her boyfriend's car, just learning the ropes. Tonight, Zari made it a point to start at the beginning, purposefully keeping part of their clothes on as if they couldn't wait to get naked. His mouth caressed her throat as his fingers worked themselves inside her from behind, as they pressed their upper bodies into each other and groaned with pleasure. He yanked down her underwear, pushed his jeans and boxers half way down to his knees, and she guided his pulsating penis to her entrance. He arranged himself on top and looked straight into her eyes with indescribable lust and desire, then thrust himself into her core. She threw back her head and gasped.

"Oh my God," she moaned.

"You feel so damn good," he gasped.

They rocked themselves toward the point of no return, grunting and sweating, and she exploded with an intensity rarely felt before. His own orgasm followed hers, eyes hooded, mouth hanging open. Their moans turned into throaty groans of ecstasy, and her fingers dug into his back, kneading his flesh and holding him locked deep inside her until the high point started to ebb, which she desperately tried to prolong. They moved away and toward each other, trying to hang on to their peak for as long as they could.

When they emerged from the frenzy of sensations, Mort looked at Zari in wonderment, so satisfied and transfixed that she busted out laughing. She had known they would be a perfect fit, young and free, and not at all needy. The fact that she wasn't a beauty was not important. She was a total woman, supercharged and uninhibited, endowed with a skin so sensuous that every nerve ending reacted to a fleeting breeze across her cheek. That was something she had noticed since she was in her teens. She used feathers to tickle her arms for pleasure, but of course, it felt better when someone else did it to her. Later she found that men were highly attracted to her sensitivity, much more than to the so-called bombshells who were often frigid and had nothing to offer in a tactile way, and whose hair they weren't allowed to touch.

They lay on their backs under the covers, holding hands, reveling in the afterglow. For Mort, it was mind-boggling to watch a woman wither under his fingertips and becoming completely his as he pushed her to the edge of sanity. He had never experienced a girl like her, didn't even know they existed. When he saw that it was raining that morning, and they made plans to meet before the bar opened, he had no idea what to expect other than a romp in the sack, which he didn't even look forward to because it always felt meaningless emotionally. If it was really urgent, he could satisfy himself or pay a street girl in a cheap motel, and not muddle his private life with a clichéd affair with his barmaid. But that first wide-eyed kiss by the window told him that this was no ordinary woman to whom sex was to be endured. And when he grabbed her ass, he could feel her vibrate with pleasure. Zari was a firecracker ready to explode. He felt comfortable with her because she wasn't fake and didn't demand perfection. She wanted touching and satisfaction, and to return the same to her partner. He could give her that.

There was plenty of time left for round two before Mort had to open the bar. He ran his nails slightly over Zari's shoulder to test if she was interested, and she responded with goosebumps on her sturdy upper arm. Maybe she was just cold? He ran his nails down to her wrist and she lifted her arm into the air. Her skin left a dotted trail behind his touch. She nuzzled her head on his chest and made small moaning sounds. Mort turned on his side and ran his fingers slowly down the length of her body, across her face, on top of her head, then down to her feet where he lingered to massage the soles. He stuck a toe in his mouth and sucked on it. She didn't care for it and let him know by pulling it away from him. Zari turned on her belly, and Mort lowered himself onto her buttocks to rub her back. She adjusted her body to his touch, moaning with pleasure. He would have to remember to bring the bottle of baby oil next time to turn this into a hot oil massage, now that he knew how much she enjoyed it.

Then he had an idea.

"Hold on," he said and got up. He came back with a bottle of body lotion and squished a gob into his hand, rubbing it between his palms before spreading it over her body. For fifteen pleasurable minutes, he kneaded her skin while she moved her shoulders and buttocks under his hands to meet his caresses.

He massaged her back, then moved his hands to her front on both sides. Zari raised her hips to meet him. His penis had hardened again, and he prodded her from behind. She was moaning loudly. When she spread her legs beneath his throbbing dick, he hunched over her and entered smoothly from behind, pinning her down. He reached for her small, hard breasts and cupped them in his hands, biting Zari playfully on the neck. Zari's throaty groans told him it was the right thing to do, and he thrust his penis deep inside her.

"You've – got – my –G-spot – you –animal!" she gasped. "Don't – stop!"

With his hair hanging into his face, he bent down around her shoulder and sucked on her hard nipple without losing contact. He couldn't have done it with a shorter dick. Their bodies felt hot and damp against each other as they found their rhythm. Her feet dug into the sheets, crunching them into a ball at the bottom of the bed. He released her tit and raised himself to an upright position as he mounted her from behind. Zari was a mess of sweat and groans. He felt he was getting close and slowed down. She was frantic.

"Spread your legs as far as you can," she urged, "so you don't cum."

Mort followed her advice and the urge lessened immediately. Before he had time to wonder how she knew about that trick, he felt she was ready to explode under him. Hard and steady, he rode her to her orgasm and she bucked up, leaving her ass suspended in the air where he finished her off until she nearly passed out. Mort had closed his legs again to enjoy his own immense relief.

They collapsed in a heap on top of each other until their breathing returned to normal.

"Well, barman, was it worth your time?" she asked.

Laying on his belly with his head buried in his arms, Mort didn't answer.

She poked him. "That bad, huh? Told you it would be fun."

"You're really something. How do you know about that little trick with the legs?"

"That's my secret. But I'll tell you this – lots of traveling. Every country has its own customs..."

"That so, huh? So this is some Swahili bush tribe's hard-on prolonging trick?"

"No, it's actually from a pretty civilized country; like ours. I read enough porn when I was young to last me a lifetime, ha ha." She got up and gathered her clothes. "D'you want to hit the shower first? You'll have to open up soon."

Mort rolled onto his back and spread the sheet over his privates. "Yeah, let me go first. Lord knows how long you'll take with all that hair of yours. Man, I just hope the sun will be out tomorrow. I'm plain worn out."

He grabbed his jeans and disappeared in the bathroom. Zari made an effort to straighten the bed and picked up their belongings, piling them onto a table. She tied her hair in a loose ponytail and waited for her turn of the shower. Sure, she could have joined him, but decided to give him privacy so he wouldn't feel this arrangement was going too fast.

Chapter 6

Later that night, when they worked side by side in the bar, neither one mentioned what had transpired a few hours earlier. They were professional and courteous to each other. Only Walter gave them a few questioning looks without saying a word.

"Walter, how long have you and Helen been married?" Zari asked suddenly.

"Almost sixty years," he said proudly.

"But if you love her so much, why do you spend all that time here, with us?"

"Ahh, you see, if I don't leave for some time every day, I can't come back to her because I'm still there," he said and grinned.

"That makes sense," Zari admitted. "So, what's the secret of your long marriage?"

"Two TVs," he answered promptly.

Zari and the customers who heard it laughed.

"Well, I expected something more profound, but if that worked for you, why not," Zari said. She knew that Walter still loved his wife as much as on the day of their wedding, if not more. The woman could do no wrong. She was the best cook, the best lover, the best joke teller, had the most class, and best of all, put up with her husband's shortcomings. Which, he insisted, were many.

"You young people today give up too easily," Walter said. "There was no money back then. We had to stick it out or become poor as well-diggers. When you have no choice, you find nifty ways to make it work. People today don't even want to commit. They just want to have it easy and fun, and at the first sign of trouble, they leave."

Mort, who was drying glasses and listening in on the conversation, rolled his eyes. "Your generation must have been special because I still have scars from my fun times. He pointed to his forehead. "That witch had claws to go with her meanness."

"You can't compare every woman to the few bad ones you've been with. There are still plenty of good ones left; same with guys," Zari said.

Mort didn't answer. In fact, he had grown pale. Walter raised his hand to stop Zari from inquiring what was wrong. "Leave him be," he mouthed. "This happens once in a while. He'll be okay."

Zari watched as her boss bent down, hands on his knees, trying to breathe but couldn't. One of the men at the bar knew where he kept an inhaler and fetched it for him. Mort pressed it into his mouth, inhaling to steady his breathing. That's when Zari found out he was asthmatic. Once he caught his breath, he stuffed the inhaler in his jeans pocket and continued pouring drinks.

"You could have told me you suffer from asthma," she reprimanded him later as they closed up for the night. "What if this had happened when no one was around? I don't know where you keep your shit and what to do!"

He played it down. "First of all, I don't suffer from it, it just bothers me. I always have an inhaler with me, and I know what to do, so no need to panic. Everything is under control."

"Pppfffft," she said, "men. You did look worried for a moment. But fine, if you have everything so much under control, I won't lose any sleep over it."

When Zari arrived to work the next night, there was a stranger behind the bar with Mort. He had a crew cut and tattoos and looked even tougher than her boss; harder in the face somehow. Even his voice sounded hoarse, the kind of voice you get when you drink and smoke too much. He let his eyes travel over Zari, top to bottom, back up and coming to a stop at her chest. He squinted and took a drag on his cigarette. Zari never had a man check her out so shamelessly and it caught her off guard. She was at a loss for words.

"That her?"

"That's Zari, my new employee. One wrong word out of you, Merrill, and you're out."

The man turned and looked at Mort in amusement. "So my little brother is defending a woman. That's new. She have a golden pussy?"

"Leave her alone," Mort said sharply. Looking at Zari, he said, "I'm sorry. Please ignore my brother, he thinks it's funny to act like a douche bag, and sadly, there is nothing I can do. He insists on babysitting me ever since our old lady..." Mort stopped abruptly and handed her the towel he was holding. "You mind finishing up?"

"No no, it was way before that, r'member?" Merrill said. "I had ta change yer diaper since the day ya were born 'cause nobody else would. But that's water under the bridge. Now I just check ta make sure ye're breathing and nobody robbed ya, or," looking at Zari, "steals yer heart." He smirked. "Don't believe I have ta worry about that. Ye're such a weird-looking girl. Bit rough around the edges, huh?" Strangely, the way he said it didn't sound mean, but rather sympathetic. He was an asshole, but he sounded like he had a nice side.

Zari gave him a smile. "At least you're honest enough to say what you think instead of that behind your back shit. I like that. And, sorry to disappoint you, but I've heard worse. You can't hurt me. I know I'm awesome." She grabbed the towel and went to work, whistling. She was glad she didn't tear up like last time. Somehow she had the feeling Merrill knew he wasn't quality stuff either, and just offered her a membership to the club of misfits. This was a new experience. She decided to be open-minded and see where it would go. Maybe she could learn to embrace her unfortunate looks even more and grow a thicker skin.

It was obvious Mort was embarrassed by his brother's bluntness, but Merrill was impressed. "Well, well, I like her. She's different. Maybe I'll stick around a bit. See if she means what she says." He walked to the table Walter usually occupied and sat down. "Just pretend I'm not here, sugar tits, and I'll have me a Jack Daniels if ya don't mind."

Mort shot from behind the bar and grabbed his brother by the collar, then dragged him to the storage room. She could hear shouting and Merrill laughing, and when they reappeared, Merrill apologized to Zari. "I don't mean it, but my brother wants me ta, so please forgive me for calling you sugar tits. It might not happen again."

She grinned. "I think we'll get along, Merrill, and please do stick around. Watching you two is very entertaining."

Walter arrived and sat at his usual place, greeting Merrill cheerfully. If Walter liked him, she took it as a good sign, and her first hunch about him was probably right. Merrill acted like an asshole but definitely had a good side, especially the way he cared about his brother. Zari already liked him, no matter how direct and foul-mouthed he was. It was a refreshing break from the fake, nice people who stabbed you in the back the minute you turned it. Merrill behaved the rest of the night and even gave her a nice tip. Before he left, Zari caught him secretly giving Mort a thumbs up.

"I hope you can forgive him. He's always embarrassing me without even trying. It's just the way he is. We grew up wild. Our parents were worthless," Mort said.

"Don't worry about it. I like him. Somehow he's the type who gets away with it. And he worries about you. It's cute."

Mort grunted the way he did whenever he was displeased or embarrassed. "I don't know why he thinks he has to. He worries about my asthma, and when a bad storm is coming, he stops by when he can get away. He's not a bad guy, just a bit unpolished. Lucky with the ladies, though, I don't know why. Do women like jackasses?"

"Badasses usually, not jackasses, but some girls don't notice the difference until it's too late."

He laughed. "What do you have me pegged as?"

"You're a niceass who's trying to be badass, and you're pulling it off pretty well. But you can't fool me. I can sense a nice side." She looked at the clock. "Hey, time to go; perfect. I have to get up early tomorrow; hair appointment. Prepare to be surprised."

He looked startled. "You're cutting off your hair? Please don't."

"I don't know yet. Angie asked me to come in for a makeover. I decided to take her up on it, see if she can tame that Brillo pad," Zari said and touched her hair.

"Don't go crazy. You look great the way you are. And I mean it, too."

Zari hurried to catch the next bus but returned a few minutes later, just as Mort was locking the door.

"I missed the damn bus," she wailed. "Now I have to wait another hour. Shit."

Mort grinned. "I'll take you home if you tell me where you live."

"Really, you wouldn't mind? Where do you keep your car?"

He pointed to a motorcycle parked in an alley close to the bar. "She's right there. My pride and joy. Let me get you the spare helmet."

Zari gave him the address and explained how to get there. She hopped on the back seat and clung onto Mort as he sped down Flatbush Avenue and across the little roads that led to her studio apartment. He let her off in front of the building.

"Thanks, boss. You're a lifesaver. I'm right there, on the third floor. I'll turn on the light when I'm inside."

He nodded and waited. When she flicked the light off and on, he roared off.

Chapter 7 revised

At ten o'clock sharp, Zari sat in the chair at Angie's Salon and watched intently as the shampoo girl massaged a thick cream into her coarse hair. She combed through it, which took a while because her hair was long and tangled easily, but even that rough kind of touch felt enjoyable to her. She closed her eyes and concentrated on each stroke.

The girl placed a cap on her head and sat her under a heat lamp. Zari used the time to imagine Mort's reaction tonight after Angie performed her magic. She had never been pretty, but was often told there was something special about her that was more attractive than blue eyes and a petite nose or bleached hair and big boobs. Her features were not delicate, but her highly developed erogenous sensitivity made up for whatever she was lacking in the looks department. Zari was well aware of her femininity and usually didn't worry too much about her appearance.

After two hours, her hair was straighter, highlighted and ready for a cut. Angie promised to leave it long, but added face-framing layers, which she blow-dried straight. Zari's butt hurt from sitting by the time Angie was done drying and straightening. Her hair looked like a shampoo model in a magazine, sleek and shiny, with highlights as if it were kissed by the sun.

"Well, what do you think?" Angie asked and held up a mirror behind her so she could see the back of her hair in the mirror.

Zari's eyes, bright with joy, said it all. "I don't know how to thank you. I look like a different person. I love it!"

She hugged her. "Stay in your seat, my makeup girl will be right here."

"Oh, there's more? I can't believe it. This is awesome!"

One of the girls brought her a glass of water and another cup of coffee. The customer service was splendid. Zari just hoped it wouldn't be too expensive so she could leave a nice tip.

"Hi, I'm Gabriella, I'll be doing your makeup today. Would you like the evening or day look?"

A beautiful black-haired girl set up station next to Zari and looked at her expectantly.

"Uh, I would probably go with the evening look, since I work at a bar at night. Might as well go all out, right?" Zari said and beamed at her.

"Sounds good, your face is perfect for some real color. It's like a blank canvas. I'm going to have fun with this. Let me take a before picture for my portfolio," Gabriella said and Zari smiled into the camera.

"What colors will you be wearing tonight?"

"Black and white, same as every night. That's pretty neutral, right?"

"Sure. But outside of work, you should wear colors that go with your olive skin and dark blond hair to bring out your features. I will give you a color palette with instructions before you leave," Gabriella said. She carefully pinned Zari's hair out of the way and began working on her face.

The brushes tickled Zari and she scrunched up her nose. "Sorry, I'm very sensitive, I can't help making faces." She laughed.

Gabriella seemed to enjoy working on Zari. Twenty minutes later, Zari looked like a movie star. "Hold for the picture. Smile. Okay, what do you think?"

Zari was stunned. She didn't even recognize herself anymore. She pulled out her phone and took a selfie. "I can't wait to post it. Nobody will recognize me. Holy cow!"

Angie came over and complimented Gabriella on her work. Looking at Zari, she said, "You'll have to text me as soon as you get to work tonight. I want to know what the guys are saying. Here, I'll show you something." She fluffed the layers into a mane and pulled and nipped until the whole look was perfect. "With the right makeup, you can also let your hair air dry and scrunch it, so it curls around your face for a softer look. You look stunning; simply amazing!"

After thanking the two ladies profusely, Zari headed for the cash register.

"Just pay Gabriella for the makeup. The hair is on me. I have to make sure our mascot looks her best, right?" Angie said.

Zari left the salon feeling on top of the world. What would Mort say when he saw her? And how about the assholes who made fun of her? She couldn't wait to go to work. She stopped at a deli for lunch and already noticed that people treated her differently. They stepped out of her way, held open doors, stared after her, and somebody even whistled. The girl behind the counter was super friendly.

The attention felt good, but it also made her feel weird. Maybe she had to get used to it. She would definitely apply more makeup from now on, but she could never duplicate the look Gabriella gave her, which was okay. She didn't need to look like a supermodel; just have a little more fun and confidence.

When she arrived at the bar a few hours later, the place was empty except for a couple in the corner, and one of the single guys who had made fun of her the other day. Not even Walter was there yet. He seemed to have moved his visits to a later hour, probably because he enjoyed Zari's company and didn't want to leave just as she began her shift.

Zari stepped behind the counter, nervous as she tried to imagine Mort's reaction. The door to the storage room stood open and she guessed he was doing inventory.

She stared at the guy in front of her. His cuts and bruises were still fresh and he looked a mess. He didn't seem to recognize her. His eyes lit up with interest and he was just about to start flirting when he realized who she was. He nearly dropped his beer.

"What the hell happened to you?!" he shouted. "Now you're talking, Missy."

She smiled and ignored him, vowing to have some fun with the men tonight, and by that she meant disregarding each and every catcall. She could play the tease game just as well. A bolt of lightning lit up the bar for a second just as Mort stepped out of the storage room. He flinched and took a deep breath before closing the door behind him. Then he saw Zari and his mouth dropped open. She pretended not to have noticed. Several seconds later, thunder crashed above them.

"It's still far away," she said and looked out the window, then at him. "It might even pass us over."

He growled. "What's with the face? And what happened to your hair?"

She leaned seductively against the counter, twirling a strand around her finger. "What do you think?"

"It's not you," he said gruffly. "I don't know what you're trying to be."

Her heart skipped a beat and she was surprised how much his remark hurt her. She wanted to look good for him, so why would he be such a jerk about it? Zari left him standing there and checked on the couple in the corner. Customers filed in and soon she was too busy to worry about Mort's negative attitude. The majority of men seemed to like it, and she swung her hips with vigor, reveling in her new look. She felt sexy and desirable. Mort either scowled at her from behind the counter or ignored her completely. 'The Unhappy Wives' sat at their table, and Angie called her over.

"See, what did I tell you ladies?" she said proudly, pointing at Zari. "This was worth coming out tonight, wasn't it? What do y'all think?"

The ladies were impressed and showered her with compliments. Zari felt embarrassed. She bent down and whispered, "The one guy who made fun of me last week already hit on me, that idiot. A little makeup and suddenly I'm his type. Well, he sure as hell ain't mine."

The whole group giggled.

"That's what I mean. Piss us off and we'll show you how stupid you are. If you ever fall for a guy who tells you how to look and what to do, you might as well hang yourself," the attractive blonde said. "Me, I look like this for myself. My husband hates it when I doll up, 'cause he's insecure, but you all see how much I care. This is my look, and here is to us, ladies," she said and raised her glass. They toasted each other.

A loud thunder clash crashed above them. It still sounded distant, but Zari secretly kept her eyes on her boss, who stood behind the counter pouring drinks and acting normal. She heard of the approaching storm on the news before she left for work, but they weren't sure if it would stay out at sea or make landfall. Guess they had their answer.

Then the lights flickered. When the wind picked up and Zari returned to the counter, Mort was gone. Walter and Zari exchanged looks and Walter nodded toward the back room. Zari asked him to keep an eye on the bar and register.

She quietly opened the door and slipped in. It was dark but a sliver of gray from the storm-laden sky brightened it enough to outline the dark shadow on the floor. A tremendous lightning strike illuminated Mort's figure. He sat on his haunches, back pressed against the wall, head in his hands, rocking back and forth.

As Zari came nearer, she could hear him wince. He sounded panicked. She approached slowly so as not to startle him, then crouched in front of him. When he didn't react, she lightly placed a hand on his shoulder and he jerked up.

"Hush, it's me. I was worried. I'm scared myself," she lied.

He stared at her with wide eyes. His breathing came in short gasps which sounded as if he was nearing a panic attack. "I told you not to come in here. I want to be alone," he hissed.

She backed away slightly, still kneeling on the floor. "I said I was worried. Your brother isn't here yet, so I thought I'd see how you're doing."

"I don't need checking up. This is how I get through it. Merrill is out of town tonight."

"Okay, sorry for caring. Where d'you keep the 'Blue Dogs?'"

"The what?"

"The 'Blue Dogs' beer. Bert is asking for it. That's what I came in here for; to get it."

At that moment, a tremendous crash erupted in the night air and lit up the room with a spectacular glow.

Mort yelped and reached for her shoulders, yanking her toward him. "Oh my God, this is bad," he groaned. "It's right above us. It's gonna hit!" His whole body trembled.

"There, there, it's okay," Zari cooed. She reached into her apron pocket and retrieved the headphones she brought when she heard about the storm. She wanted to help her boss get over his fear of storms and figured listening to music to tune out the noise might do the trick. She turned on her phone and slipped the headphones over his ears, then cradled his head against her chest.

Mort's breathing slowed down. He seemed to relax, listening to the music which Zari had set on high. He pressed the headphones against his ears. "What is this?" he asked.

Zari pulled away one of the earpieces. "Antiphone Blues by Arne Domnerus. My uncle had the CD, and we always listened to it on Sunday mornings when we had breakfast together. Isn't it amazing?"

"It's... different. A sax and..."

"... an organ," she said.

They sat on the floor, holding each other, Mort listening to the music and Zari cradling his head in her arms, rocking slightly. The wind whipped the building and the storm unloaded its fury around them. Mort trembled in her arms and she found the mix of strength and vulnerability incredibly attractive. She inhaled the masculine scent which the sweat of fear released through his pores. She stroked his head and brushed a long strand of hair out of his eyes.

She pulled one of the earpieces away again. "Why are you such a jerk about my new look? I was so excited, thinking you would like it," she said.

He used his thumbs to wipe off her lipstick and even tried to rub off the blush on her cheek with the heel of his hand. He gently stroked her hair. "It's not you. I liked it when you were proud of who you were and didn't give a shit what others said. You are such an incredible woman, and now you act like all the other insecure girls who think that putting on war paint changes who they are. I like the old Zari, the Amazon girl. The one who knows what she's worth."

She kissed him on the forehead. "I'm not trying to be someone I'm not. But I do love makeup and know it can enhance anyone's look if done right. It's not a cover-up; it's an emphasis of the beauty that's there already, dummy. I just wanted to show these jerks at the counter how wrong they were about me. And by the way, it washes off."

He leaned his head against her chest, and she held him tightly. A few minutes later she could hear the thunder from miles away. "It's almost over," she whispered.

"Is it?"

"Yeah, it already sounds far away."

Mort slowly released his grip on her. His face glistened when he raised his head and looked up at her with wild eyes, only to duck back into her soothing embrace when one more thunder clash erupted in the distance. Suddenly she could feel his lips graze her cheek. She turned her face, her lips following his.

Mort sat on the floor, his legs stretched out from under him and Zari climbed into his lap. He pulled up his knees so his thighs supported her back. They locked into a hungry kiss. His fingers pulled on her blouse, opened buttons until he could burrow his hands inside and under her bra, cupping her breasts.

Zari lifted her skirt above her hips, then opened his fly. Mort yanked down her underwear and she lowered herself onto his rock-hard dick, throwing her head back when he entered her to the hilt. His strong hands grasped her hips, moving them back and forth until he exploded with such force that he screamed. He still had the music going and couldn't hear himself over the sax. Zari clasped her hands over his mouth and held them there until he quieted down.

"Shhh, the customers," she laughed.

He yanked off the headphones. "Shit, was I loud?"

"You were screaming." Zari put on a pouty face. "Good for you. I wasn't done yet."

He blushed. "Oh, sorry. I'll make it up to you," he promised. "I have to get back to work. Shit, we just broke two of my rules. Dammit, woman!"

"Sorry, it won't happen again," she teased. "I really just came in to see if you were all right. What if you had an asthma attack and nobody knew?"

"Still, you shouldn't have come in here. I mean it." He grabbed a case of beer and she took two bottles of wine off the rack so the customers would think that's what they came in for. When they entered the bar room nobody seemed to have noticed their absence.

The table with the 'Unhappy Wives Club' was roaring with laughter. They clearly had too much to drink already but raised their glasses for more.

The last customers left for the night and Mort cleaned up. He flipped the chairs on the tables so he could sweep the floor while Zari organized the receipts and counted her tip money. Mort insisted on doing his own cleaning; no one else did a good enough job for his precious dump. And, of course, he also totaled up the receipts and did his own bookkeeping.

He was a burnt man, he said. 'Child,' Zari always corrected. All men were children, more or less. They argued playfully about this sometimes. To prove how manly he was, he showed off his biceps, which, she had to admit, were stunning; like Popeye after he downed a can of spinach. Zari put on a show admiring them but stood by her opinion of men being children.

She leaned over the counter and was so concentrated on counting dollar bills that she didn't notice Mort coming up behind her. Suddenly, an intense sensation, nerve-tingling, and full of pleasure, originated from her head and moved down to her toes, causing her to yelp. She could feel her pleasure spots exploding and her groin tingling so much that she had to press her legs together.

"What the hell was THAT?!" she yelled. Her arms were completely covered in goosebumps, and all she could think of was MORE! More of what she just felt, again and again, forever and always. It was the single most intense pleasure she had ever experienced besides orgasms.

Mort looked at her with an impish smile, openly pleased with himself. A cigarette dangled from his mouth since he didn't give a rat's ass about the no smoking rule in bars; especially not in his own. He sometimes burned incense behind the counter to mask the smell, in case anyone had to stick his or her nose into the matter.

He held a whisk in his hand. Zari stared at it in disbelief. "A whisk? You just did that with a whisk?!"

Mort twirled it and when she tried to grab it, he quickly hid it behind his back. "Now, now, slow down," he said. "Turn around and close your eyes."

Zari turned and waited. Mort placed the whisk-thingy on top of her head and lightly pushed it down. Zari moaned. "Oh my gosh, that feels crazy! Keep doing it." Mort massaged her head, up and down, up and down. Zari was mesmerized with delight.

"What an awesome idea for a whisk."

"It's a Bokoma," Mort explained behind her. "A friend gave it to me a long time ago. I keep it behind the bar as a joke. I thought you'd like a scalp massage with your hypersensitive skin. Since I promised to make it up to you, you know."

"I never felt anything like it!" Zari threw back her head, holding herself up with her elbows propped on the counter. She rhythmically swayed her body, to reach as many areas with the highest concentration of nerves. Mind boggling pleasure sensations rushed through her." I am totally soaked, man. This goes straight to my clit."

Mort stopped in mid-massage. "That right?" he mumbled into her ear and let his hands wander to her butt, grabbing it tightly. Zari spread her legs. Mort pushed up her short, black skirt and noticed she wasn't wearing her underwear anymore. "Damn," he shouted. "You walked around like that all evening? If I had known that, I'd had a boner the whole time, and every man in here with me."

"I didn't have time to put them back on after you had your way with me. You were in such a hurry to get back to your customers," she said innocently.

Mort didn't waste time. He fumbled with his fly, released the prisoner inside, and shoved his prick into her where it was met with a soppy, sucking sound. He moaned loudly, holding onto her hips and hammering into her, then slowed down between thrusts until he couldn't hold back anymore.

Zari massaged her clit. "Don't stop," she panted, "I'm coming, you crazy wild thing!"

They reached their peaks seconds apart, then collapsed over the counter still connected. He lingered inside her until his cock was so flaccid it plopped out on its own. Their legs were shaky as they pulled their clothes back in place.

"That was some wild night," Zari said when she caught her breath. "First the storm outside, then the hurricane inside. What's gotten into you? I thought you were allergic to women."

"I am. Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm just in it for sex. Like we agreed, remember?"

"Oh, totally. Don't worry. You're a great boss, but I'm not sure you're my type," she lied. She really didn't want to fall in love with him. It would make everything too complicated. She needed this job and she liked the atmosphere of the place, and Walter was like family already. He was a good man. His wife was very lucky.

Zari glanced at Mort, trying to decide if she should ask; then she did. "Mort, your fear of thunderstorms...is it the noise that bothers you, or are you afraid to get hit by lightning?"

It was not the right question, she could tell as soon as she saw him shut down. He felt embarrassed, but it was out in the open now and she couldn't unsay it.

"I really don't know, and I don't want to talk about it, okay? It's personal."

"Okay, sure. Just one more question. When did it start? I mean, were you scared as a child, or did you have a scary experience; like PTSD or something?"

He turned away, busying himself with setting out glasses for the next day. "It's gotten worse over the years. That's all I'm gonna say. It's something I have to deal with myself, so stay out of it."

She shrugged and left it be for now. Maybe she would ask his brother when she caught him alone. Merrill was a rough, intimidating guy, but truly loyal to his younger brother. He seemed to genuinely worry about him, which made him less of an asshole.

She couldn't stop looking at Mort. He possessed such a dominant presence, and this childlike fear of thunderstorms made him so damn attractive. She wished she knew how to help him get over it by trying to figure out the cause, but he slammed that door shut every time she approached the subject. If only she could reach him, he would be so much better off talking about it than carrying this burden by himself.

"Stop analyzing me," he ordered. "I'm not a project. Gina was the opposite, only cared about herself, so I learned to take care of myself. I survived, didn't I?"

"Gina was your ex-wife?" she inquired gently.

"No. She was our mother. Fuckin' bitch. Hope she rots in hell."

Zari had never heard anyone talk about their mother like that. She knew it was smarter to pretend the conversation was over because she felt he would snap at her if she tried to find out more or acted shocked. Guys mothers were tough subjects, whether they got along with them or not, and she knew intuitively that he would respect her more if she shut up now. He would tell her one day when he was ready and she least expected it.

They cleaned up in silence.

"Listen," he said. "Would you mind coming in earlier tomorrow? I have to run an errand and don't know when I'll get done."

She was glad he was still talking to her. "Of course I can. You mean, to open up?"

He looked at her and nodded. "Mhm. I... "

She gave him time. He was so cute when he wasn't pretending to be macho.

"I might as well tell you. I have a little boy. He's five. His name is Jonathan. He has an appointment tomorrow, and Eva, that's my ex, has to work later, so I'm taking him. I really appreciate it. Thanks," he said quietly.

She wiped her hands on a towel and smoothed her skirt. "Why is that a secret? So you have a son. That's great. You're a daddy. You should be proud."

"I am proud. I just don't mix personal life with business. But I already broke that rule like a son-of-a-bitch tonight, so what the hell." He looked somber. "I like and trust you, so it's okay."

"Mmm, you like me, huh? I'm worth your trust; how special. Listen, it's not my fault your mother fucked up, and it's not my fault your ex is a bitch. I am not like them, so get over your attitude that all women are the same." She grabbed the spare keys out of the drawer. "See you when you get here." She turned on her heels and left him standing there.

When she arrived at her apartment, a text message pinged on her phone. It was from Mort. "Thanks for being there tonight and sorry about being an ass. I never had anyone worry about me xpt my brother. Btw ur hair looks gr8. C u tomorrow."

The next day, Zari opened the bar at four. Soon after, several businessmen filed in, looking at her suspiciously. "Who are you? Where's Mort?"

"He'll be here in a bit. Don't worry, I won't bite. I'm Zari, the new bartender. I usually start working after you leave." Her shiny, straight hair still framed her face softly, but she had applied less makeup than Gabriella did the day before. She felt professional and feminine, and if these henpecked husbands couldn't deal with it, that was not her problem. But she would show them that strong women didn't need to be scary. They could just as well act weak and in need of help, making men feel strong and important. She changed from heels to sensible flats to appear less tall.

"What can I get you, Sir?"

The accountant-type at the first table looked up. "Uhh," he stammered. "I'll have a scotch without ice if you don't mind. Thank you."

'Cute', Zari thought. He probably puts the toilet seat down at his house like a good boy. "Coming up; scotch neat," she said.

She pretended to have a hard time reaching the bottles on the top shelf, standing on tippy toes and struggling to reach the one she wanted. She turned to her customer. "Sorry, Sir, but would you mind giving me a hand? I can't reach that bottle up there."

The guy stared at her for a moment, then shot from his seat and hurried behind the counter, eagerly retrieving it for her.

"Oh, and would you be so kind and open the lid for me? My hands can't grasp it hard enough, and I don't want to cut myself." She handed him a glass of olives.

The guy nearly tripped over himself trying to be helpful. Zari could tell he was starved for a kind word and a little praise, and she had no problem giving him that.

How often could a man feel like a real man in this world, where everything was hunted and killed for them, precut, preassembled, preprocessed? No wonder office workers felt frustrated and had the need to beat each other bloody; to get back some of that feeling nature intended for them at the beginning of mankind by protecting the weaker sex, bringing home the kill, showing off their strength and acting like a man.

"Oooh, you did that with just one try? You're very strong," she said. "Do you work out?"

The man blushed and beamed at the same time. "Oh, no, not really. Don't mention it. It's nothing. I'm sitting right over there if you need anything else. My name is Tom. You just holler if you need anything, okay?"

"I will do that, and thank you kindly, Tom." Zari walked to the jukebox and selected Pat Benatar's 'We Belong'. She moved rhythmically to the music, aware of being watched.

She took another order. This guy had his laptop open and several pages spread across the table; numbers. Zari shook her head in mock admiration until he looked up at her.

"May I help you?" he asked.

"Oh, no, actually, I wanted to ask you that. What can I get you, sir?"

"Vodka up neat; chilled martini glass."

"Umm, yeah. That's what it usually comes in," she said, taken aback.

Did he honestly think she didn't know what she was doing? She had been shaking her head to show him how confused she would be by that jumble of numbers, and then compliment him on his brain and organization skills, but he didn't fall for it. Some men were like that, but she would find something nice to say to him. It didn't have to be on the first day.

The door opened and Mort came in, a small blond boy trailing behind him. Mort pointed to the counter and the boy climbed up on a chair, spinning around. "Zari, this is Jonathan. Jonathan, say hi to Zari. She's my new helper."

Jonathan looked at her with big green eyes. "Hello, you look nice. Can I have a Coke, please?"

Mort nodded at her. "He can have a Coke and start his homework until his mother picks him up. How did it go here?"

"Fine. I don't think they have a problem with me even though I'm only a woman," she said, looking at him. "No complaints as far as I know."

Mort opened a can of soda and poured it into a glass, which he pushed across the counter toward his son. "Thanks for filling in, you can leave earlier tonight if you want."

"Actually, I wouldn't mind picking up extra hours. Maybe just a couple times a week. Would that be okay?"

Mort looked uneasy. "I'm just making ends meet right now. I can't pay you more, it would be for tips only." Leaning closer and nodding in Jonathan's direction, he whispered, "All my money goes to him and the old lady. She took me to the cleaners, but I don't mind if it's for him."

"Sounds good. Tips are fine." She gave him a big smile and went back to work.

The businessmen were about to leave and be husbands and fathers for the remainder of the day. They came here to decompress, have a couple drinks before facing the demands of family life.

"Daddy, I'm hungry," Jonathan said from the corner.

"Mommy will be here any minute. Just finish your Coke and work on your homework, okay?"

"But I'm starving. Why don't you have anything to eat? Isn't this a restaurant?"

Zari offered to go next door with him and buy him a burger and fries. Jonathan jumped from his seat and had his hand in hers before Mort could object. They skipped outside.

As they waited in line, Zari had an idea. The four-o'clock customers arrived before dinner, the rest of the crowd came in after, including Walter. Would they drink more if it wouldn't be on an empty stomach? Just a simple snack maybe, something quick and easy to make. Even just one item, a warm sandwich, could become the bar's signature meal.

When she mentioned it to Mort later, he was totally against it. "This is a bar, not a food joint. I can't afford to hire a cook, and we don't have the time to prepare meals. If they're hungry, they can go next door."

"Or we could arrange a catering service. Just an idea. Why don't you mull it over?"

He grumbled in her direction and shook his head. No woman would tell him what to do. Walter grinned. He enjoyed listening in on their little disagreements.

Zari smiled, knowing she had planted the seed, and now it was time to let the thought simmer. When the time was right, she would let her boss think it was his idea.

 **Revised chapter 8**

Zari couldn't wait to see who would pick up Jonathan but it wasn't his mother who came by an hour later. She sent a babysitter who would watch him while she was going out. She could tell Mort was not pleased.

He escorted his son to the door and hugged him before releasing him to the sitter. "Let me know if you need anything. Be good," he said.

Jonathan turned to Zari and waved. "Bye, Zari. Thanks for dinner."

"Wow, that kid has manners. I'm impressed. That's half the battle. He's gorgeous. Where did he get the blonde hair from?" Zari asked.

"I was blonde when I was little," Mort said. "I hope his hair stays blonde. Mine changed to black when I was a teenager." He stood by the door and stared after his son.

Zari didn't inquire about the boy's mother. She didn't want to ruin Mort's mood further.

The door opened and Merrill came in, grinning broadly when he saw her.

"There she is; Sarah. Keeping my brother happy, I hope," he said.

"Hi, Merrill. It's Zari, but don't worry about it. I don't expect you to remember it." She smiled sweetly. "Would you like anything to eat? You didn't have dinner yet, did you?"

He looked surprised. "Ya servin' dinner now?" He looked at Mort who sighed in frustration.

"She's had this crazy idea to turn this place into a bar and grill, which is not gonna happen. There's a burger joint next door. Feel free to get your own chow."

"That's a great idea. I can see the sign: BYOC. People would wonder what it means, then like the idea and bring food. Word would spread and you'd be the talk of the town."

"Bullshit. Nobody would go for it. It's not that type of place," Mort said.

Merrill turned toward the room and shouted, "Anybody want a burger? I'm going next door."

Walter raised his hand, as did several others. Zari ducked out of the way. Let the brothers sort this out. Mort could thank her later.

Merrill returned with an armload of paper bags and distributed them while collecting the money. Zari noticed a small increase in drink orders during the night and considered it a good sign.

"That was a great idea to pick up food next door," she told Mort.

He shrugged. "Yeah, maybe it'll work. We'll see how it goes." Merrill was on his best behavior and complimented Zari's hair. "Looking nice, little girl. How's everything?"

Mort was in the back room, and Zari used the opportunity to ask Merrill about his brother's phobia. She couldn't stop feeling worried about him and wanted to see if there was anything she could do to help. "Merrill, don't tell him I asked you this, but I've noticed your brother gets nervous during thunderstorms. Any idea why? Was he always afraid of loud noises?"

Merrill's face turned serious. It took him a moment before he answered. It looked as if he was about to downplay it, then reconsidered. "Yeah, well, he was always a worrier. That's why I try ta be around when I can. How did it go the other night when we had that big storm?"

"He just disappeared without telling us. Suddenly, he was gone. I had to get something from the back room and found him, but he didn't want to talk. I just saw that he was very upset. I wonder if something happened when he was little that scared him, and if he can trace it back to that it might help him get over it." She shrugged. "Maybe I'm wrong, but I thought I'd ask so I know what to do next time. What do you suggest?"

Merle shrugged and looked strangely concerned. "I wish I knew. Since he was little, he woke up screaming during storms. All I could do was tell him nothing's gonna happen, but he wouldn't calm down 'til it was over. I was 'fraid our daddy might hear him and beat him for it. He hated it when we cried, so we never did. But them storms, he couldn't fight against it. When it thundered during the day, he and our dog Buster hid under the bed. They were both so scared they shook like Jello during an earthquake. But I could never figure out why. Neither he nor the dog had reason ta, far as I know."

Mort reappeared and Zari quickly turned away. She was surprised how open Merrill, whom she had just met for the second time, was about something his brother was so embarrassed about. He must really care and try to help, but had run out of options. Now that she knew how bad it was and that it started in childhood, she could research it when she got home. There had to be a solution, other than moving to a place where it never rained.

Mort looked pale and seemed to be preoccupied. Zari watched him talk to his brother but only caught a few words. He was angry at Jonathan's mother for leaving him with a babysitter while she was, 'running around town', as he called it.

The boy seemed delicate and quiet, and needed a mother who nurtured him, Zari thought. The one Mort described didn't sound like she fit the bill. But it was not her place to get involved. She was an employee and what her boss did in his private life was none of her business. So why was she so interested in helping him get over his fear of storms? This wildly handsome, strong, emotionally inaccessible man trembled like a scared little puppy, and it touched something in her heart; something she couldn't control. Even without the sex, she would feel like that. She was sure of it. And what about his asthma? Could there be a connection? Zari shook her head. She never heard of asthma stemming from fear of noise.

"What's wrong? What you're shakin' your head for?" Mort asked behind her.

Zari flinched. "Nothing, just thinking about stuff."

She quickly busied herself with the cleanup. They would be closing soon, and she was suddenly ready to go home. It had been a long day.

When she arrived at her apartment, Roberta woke from her nap and stretched her legs, then her back, and meowed in greeting. Zari picked her up and hugged her to her chest, rubbing her chin gently over the cat's head. She carried her into the kitchen, made hot water for tea, and booted up her laptop. When she Googled 'fear of thunder', 'fear of loud noise', 'fear of getting hit by lightning', her eyes fell on an article about a doctor in Florida who talked about patients with chronic illnesses being helped by hypnosis.

She opened the link and started to read. An hour later she had ordered one of his books on past life regression, having the odd sensation that she found something that might help explain Mort's phobia. The problem was, how would she tell him about it?

Chapter 9

During the next couple nights, Zari waited for an opportunity to talk to Mort about the therapist who successfully hypnotized and helped people suffering from unexplainable symptoms. But whenever she opened her mouth, someone interrupted them.

At the end of the night, sensing Zari wanted to talk to him, Mort asked what was up. She suddenly felt shy about the subject. If he misunderstood what she was trying to do, or if he was superstitious or hated New Age or whatever, he might get pissed at her for intervening and shut her down before she could convince him to give it a try.

Furthermore, they might both be storming out of the bar at the end of the night in shitty moods, and feel bad all through the night and most of the day until they were back at work and had to get along. No, this was too sensitive and important to mess up. It had to wait until all the planets were aligned, or maybe after their next rendezvous at the 'Rosemont Hotel'.

"Nothing really, I just wondered if we could offer our patrons a warm sub-like sandwich."

So now they were back on that topic, but it was still better than telling him what was really on her mind, namely using hypnosis to regress Mort back to his childhood and uncover the reason for his fear of storms. Right. That would go over well with her conventional boss. She plowed on.

"It would be only one menu item, a quick preassembly and heating up, filling, tasty and easy to serve. A house sub. Or maybe a house sandwich. Whatever you want to call it." Seeing his exasperated look, she quickly added, "Or you could order it from somewhere like you said."

He looked at her in deep thought. "I'll think about it. That's all I'm giving you for now, okay?"

She grinned. "Okay. You do that. See you tomorrow." She got ready to leave, but before she stepped through the door, she turned around and said, "I think it's supposed to rain tomorrow."

When she woke up the next morning, the sun was out, but a few clouds scuttled across the blue sky. Zari hoped it would rain before the afternoon, so they had more time to enjoy each other. By ten thirty, the sky had turned a leaden gray and the first drops began to fall. Zari looked through her 'goody bag' to make sure she didn't forget anything. Feathers and blindfolds and oils, but most importantly, her portable pole. It was a lot to carry around but it was so worth it...

Since her junior year in high school and all through college, Zari had taken pole dancing classes. Not for strip teasing and money making in gentlemen clubs, but for legit fitness and strength exercises. She brought her pole with her wherever she moved and a few times a week, worked through a routine of stretching and positions like others practiced yoga. She chose studio apartments by ceiling height and pet friendliness, not amenities. Her cat and the pole were the most important things in her life.

It rained more steadily now and she messaged her boss. "Be there in an hour?"

He responded almost immediately. "C U there."

Zari reserved their room and ordered Uber, then lugged the bags outside. She wanted to arrive first so she could get everything ready and surprise him. She remembered from their first visit that the ceiling height was about the same as her apartment's, and with a few extra turns of the adjuster wrench, she could make the pole fit tight.

Half an hour later, Zari had everything in place. The bag with the accessories sat on the floor within easy reach of the bed. She closed the blinds to make the room look dim and mysterious but lit a few well-placed candles. The show could begin.

When Mort knocked, always the gentleman, she called him in and waited for his eyes to adjust. He blinked into the dark, then looked up.

'Into the Jungle' played in the background, and Zari hung upside down from the pole, wearing a black vinyl shorts and bra set, her hair a wild halo around her. "Hi, boss. Sit down and watch."

He stumbled across the room, nearly tripping over a chair. He deposited the box of chocolates on the bed and sat down, not once taking his eyes off of her.

The pole spun slowly and she leisurely changed positions in midair, from inverted D to chopper to cross leg release, her favorite move. "What do you think?"

"I'm not. I'm speechless."

"Aren't you glad I only suggested serving warm sandwiches to the customers instead of this?"

He chuckled. "Don't let Merrill hear that. He'd insist we add pole dancing to our customer service."

Zari repeated the positions before sliding down and sashaying toward him. "I've been dancing all my life, but when I discovered pole fitness, it was a revelation. It's perfect for me because I'm a strong woman, and you need strength to do acro on a pole. So whenever someone makes fun of me because I'm not the typical girly girl, I think, if only you knew what I can do. It makes me feel good about myself. Like I have a secret superpower or something."

"Come here," Mort said as he pulled her close. "If anyone makes fun of you, it's because they're jealous. Trust me."

She lowered herself onto him until she straddled his lap. He buried his face in her chest.

"In college, the guys called this motor boating," she laughed.

"What did you do in college?" he wanted to know.

"Oh, I had lots of fun. I belonged to this awesome sorority. I mean, we partied all the time, but we did a lot of fundraising for good causes. I miss school."

He looked up at her in amusement. "I meant, what did you study?"

"Oh, I have a business degree. I thought it would come in handy someday. But I also got my scuba diving certificate."

"Scuba diving? You're just full of surprises. What're you gonna do with that?"

"Okay, I'll tell you, but promise you won't laugh." She looked at him seriously.

He promised. "Let me guess. You plan on going pearl diving in the Pacific and live on an island with palm trees, have your own little beach bar and pick up any guy you want, whenever you want."

"Wow, scary. You're right about everything except the pearls, but that's not a bad idea. Okay, I'll tell you. My biggest dream is to go shark diving in the South Pacific. That's what I'm saving my money for. And I don't care how crazy people think I am, I'm so doing it." She waited for his reaction.

He was quiet.

"Well?"

He looked at her with somber eyes and swallowed hard. Then he said with a hoarse voice, "Don't let anybody talk you out of it, you hear? You follow that dream. At least you have a dream. And a future. And don't wait too long because one morning you might wake up and it's too late."

The sadness in Mort's voice surprised her. He averted his eyes, and she suspected they were wet with tears. She gently guided his face into her chest again and kissed the top of his head. "I promise I will do it. If all goes according to plan, I'll have the money saved up in a year."

They kissed, slowly at first, then more urgent, and he lay back on the bed and let her take the lead. Zari peeled off his clothes; the shirt first, then his boots, jeans, and socks before stripping off her own.

"Close your eyes," she whispered.

She reached into the open bag on the floor and felt for a long, sturdy feather and a smaller, soft one. Mort raised his arms over his head, eyes closed, mouth slightly open. As soon as she touched his torso with the feather, he raised his hips and moaned. She introduced the fluffy feather and he grinned. She brushed it across his face and he laughed, opening his eyes.

"What are you doing?" he asked, giggling.

"Finding your ticklish spots. Hold still, but let me know what feels good, and when I should move on."

Mort closed his eyes again and concentrated. "Mmm, right there," he mumbled when she fluttered the feathers over his chest down to his navel, lingering on his groin where his shaft already stood at attention, turning his tighty whitey's into a tent.

She bent over it and very gently, using her teeth, grabbed his fabric-covered penis and slightly pulled on it, which nearly drove him mad. After a few moves, she let go and slithered further down, to the inside of his thighs, using her tongue and the feathers.

He spread his legs, gyrating his hips, moaning in steady intervals. With both hands, she pulled off his underwear and freed his cock.

Zari reached for the bag again and pulled out a two-foot-long bar. She wedged it between his legs, locking them apart. He briefly looked up but didn't ask questions. She worked his shaft with her tongue, slowly at first before building up to a fury while he grasped the sheet on both sides, throwing his head back with a long moan. He was stewing in his own juice as long as his legs were open, hindering him from relief even as he was so close to coming. She moved her tongue upward on his belly toward his nipples while lifting herself over his cock before sinking languidly onto it.

Mort raised his hips to meet her core and with one slippery move, sank all the way into her. He nearly passed out with pain and pleasure. Her goal wasn't to hurt him. It wasn't her style. She just wanted to show him something different and tease him a bit before allowing him to cum.

When Zari was sure his pleasure was nearing agony, she removed the pole, and with her hands behind her, pushed his legs together. Then she sat on top of him waiting until he found his bearings and a pleasurable rhythm.

They climaxed together, moaning and huffing before falling into each other in a heap.

"Do I even want to know where you learned this crazy shit?" he asked, noticeably impressed.

"Anthropology class. I told you I had fun in college. Our female professor told us about rituals and traditions of some crazy cultures around the world. It was my favorite class ever. Of course, some tribes took this prolonging technique as far as passing out cold from the pain of blocking the relief." She looked at him. "I never tried it on anyone before. Did it work?"

"Oh, it worked. I almost pushed you off, but I trusted you knew what you were doing. Now you're telling me I was your first victim?"

"Sure were." She looked at him with a dimply smile. "To tell you the truth, you're the first guy I really felt comfortable trying kinky stuff with. Will you forgive me?"

"Hmm," he hummed. "I'll have to think about it."

She laughed. "Come on, it wasn't that bad. Tell you what. Next time you get to do whatever you want with me, okay?"

"'Kay," he said tenderly.

Zari snuggled under Mort's armpit, and they listened to the rain splatter on the roof. She imagined what it would be like if they were going steady, and if this would be a normal ritual, going to sleep together and waking up next to each other. It was too early for such thoughts, but it was nice thinking about it anyway.

Suddenly, his whole body stiffened. It could only mean one thing; it had begun to thunder.

She perked her ears and held her breath to listen. A small flash of lightning lit up the sky, and there it was again, the rumble of thunder. Still far off, but on its way.

He tensed and turned on his side, pulling a pillow over his head and breathing rapidly. She ran her nails gently along his back and his breathing became calmer. He was very vulnerable at this point, and she wanted to do and say the right thing.

It was a critical moment. She was afraid if she messed this up it would make him leave, but he wouldn't dare go outside while it stormed, so she decided it was now or never to approach the subject of hypnosis. Her fingers circled down his back toward his butt, lingered, and then moved sideways, reaching for his hand. He let her hold it.

"This is what I meant," Mort said in a raspy voice. "Just be patient with me. I'm the world's biggest chicken." He sounded embarrassed.

"It doesn't have to be this way," Zari began. She was heading into forbidden territory, and one wrong word could ruin it. She waited to see if he showed interest.

"What do you mean?"

"What did you try so far to fight this?"

He shrugged. "Nothing really. I wouldn't know where to start."

"I've heard of something that might work, but it's probably too crazy. Never mind."

He cocked his head. "In what way, crazy?"

"A doctor in Florida had great success with a procedure called regression therapy." She let this sit there.

"Never heard of it. What kind of therapy? Like a shrink?"

"I'm not sure. He sounds different. Something about relaxation and drawing experiences out of the subconscious." She purposely made it sound half-assed, even though she knew perfectly well what it was and how it worked. But her instincts told her to introduce this very slowly.

"Oh, you mean like hypnosis? Nah, that'll never work. I'm too jumpy for that."

Zari took it as a good sign. At least, he wasn't generally against it. "Yeah, you're right. It was just an idea."

"Well, where did you hear about it?" Mort inquired.

"I read an article awhile back, then looked into it some more. If it's true what he claims, it's a possibility for a cure, or at least to lessen the symptoms. But whatever." She sounded as uninvolved as possible while intriguing him enough into wanting to find out more.

The storm was now directly above them. She wrapped her arms around him, and he pressed them close to his chest, trembling so hard, his teeth rattled. She prayed the storm would pass as quickly as it came.

Somewhere in the dark, his cell phone rang. She waited for him to get up and answer, but he didn't seem to hear it. It kept ringing and when it stopped, it started ringing again. Mort finally got up and reached for his jeans, pulling the phone out of a pocket. "Merrill," he mumbled and before he answered, he looked at her and put a finger to his lips.

Zari could hear the conversation echoing in the room.

"You okay? I'm at your place. Where're you at?"

"Running a couple errands, but I will be home shortly. I'll stay in this store until it passes, okay? See you soon."

They hung up and Mort sighed. "Guess we're done here for today."

Zari nodded and collected her clothes, dressed, then dissembled the pole. "Were you surprised about this?"

"Mhm. I can't believe you went through all this trouble. That was really amazing." He stopped and looked at her warmly. "I liked it a lot. Thanks."

Zari was hoping he would mention the therapy again. When he didn't, she gave it one more try. "About what we talked about... do you want me to look into it?"

He didn't answer until he was fully dressed. "I'm not going to Florida. Not to no shrink. And I'm not going to no shrink here, either. I don't believe in them. But I'm willing to read about it if you still have that article, and you can update me on anything you find out. So whatever you want to do within these perimeters, go for it."

She considered it a start. The book she ordered was scheduled to arrive tomorrow, and she would try the regression CD on herself. Maybe it was powerful enough to make a difference for him.

Chapter 10

Merrill joined them in the bar later that night. Zari had the feeling he was watching her more than usual, so she acted as normal as possible, hoping the fling she had with his brother wasn't noticeable.

Walter sat with Merrill in deep conversation. When Zari brought them their drinks, they stopped in midsentence, but she had already heard them mentioning Mort. The place was filling up and she didn't have time to linger. She wished she could find out more, especially since their expressions told her they were worried about him.

She finally heard Merrill say, "His old lady is asking fer more money. I want to break her face. What's my brother supposed ta live on? He's even thinking of selling his bike. Over my dead body!"

Walter nodded in agreement.

Zari hurried past them. So that was the issue. Mort hadn't let on that he had money problems, other than when Jonathan was here and she asked for more hours. She felt sorry for her boss, but there was nothing she could do for him financially. She needed everything she made just to get by herself. She would tell him he didn't have to buy her chocolates anymore because she was watching her figure or something. Maybe this way he could save a few dollars, especially during rainy periods.

The book and CD set arrived early the next day. With Roberta snuggled in her lap, Zari finished half the book by the afternoon. It sounded useful for his condition. Tonight, when she got home, she wanted to try the audio part that came with it and see what it was like.

There was no rain, much less a storm, predicted in the forecast for the next several days, so she had time to familiarize herself with the topic before she brought the whole show to Mort. She had to meter the information out carefully before turning him off with unreasonable-sounding facts and demands, and she thought it was best to do a trial run on herself.

She rummaged through the drawer in her nightstand, an heirloom from her grandparents which she brought with her to the East Coast. The drawer contained many childhood memorabilia, and as far as she remembered, a recording device she used during her classes in college in addition to taking notes. She planned to listen to the CD after work, and just in case she missed anything, record herself as she was being led into her subconscious mind.

"I bought a book about what we talked about the other night," Zari mentioned casually as they closed up.

"What book?" Mort asked, sounding disinterested.

"You know, that regression stuff. I'll let you know what it's like once I find out more."

He squinted at her. "Why are you so obsessed with this all of a sudden? It's not because of me, is it?"

"No, of course not. I'm interested in it myself. But I'm saying if I find anything that might help you get to the bottom of your problem, I'll let you know. All right, see you tomorrow." She left before he could tell her not to bother.

Zari's hand trembled with anticipation, and she had a hard time unlocking the door to her apartment. She quickly fed Roberta, changed into sweats, and boiled water for tea. There was an area around her pole spacious enough for a pile of pillows and several candles to set the atmosphere for what she was about to do.

She turned on the CD player and voice recorder and got comfortable on the floor. The voice of the narrator calmed her, and she closed her eyes, concentrating on the instructions until she entered a deeply relaxed state.

When she woke up two hours later, she felt disoriented and confused, wondering why she lay on the floor until she saw the CD player. Slowly, she remembered what she was doing before she fell asleep, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not recall anything from the session. It was too late to check the voice recorder and would have to wait until breakfast.

She awoke earlier than usual. Zari leisurely arched her back and stretched her limbs before getting out of bed. She turned on the coffee maker, fed Roberta, and did more stretching exercises before going through her routine on the pole. It wasn't until she inverted into Chopper pose that she remembered the recorder and nearly slipped off the pole. Suddenly, she couldn't wait to hear what, if anything, was audible.

She got breakfast ready and turned on the recorder, setting it as loud as it would go. Nothing. Zari felt bummed and discouraged because not only had nothing come through, she also had no recollection of her subconscious journey into her past. She finished her cereal and just as she had her mouth full of coffee, a childish sounding voice came from the recorder lying next to her. Somebody answered to questions from the narrator, describing events that sounded strangely familiar. Then Zari knew. The chirpy voice was her own, as she was being regressed into childhood and led down memory lane to her earliest years. She sounded happy and content.

Zari stared at the table for a long moment, breathless and with a pounding heart, not daring to believe what she just heard. This was incredible. She couldn't wrap her head around the fact that regressing really worked. And to have zero recollection when she woke up, just knowing that everything she heard herself say was true because she remembered her childhood exactly the way she described it, even unearthing some long forgotten events. It was beyond amazing. She wanted to call Mort and tell him what happened but reconsidered. It would be the wrong approach. The hardest part was to convince him to try for himself. How she would do that, she hadn't the faintest idea.

Later at work, Zari couldn't stop thinking about everything that happened last night. Mort noticed her distractedness but said nothing. It was too busy for small talk, so as always, anything out of the ordinary had to wait until later.

Walter was there for comic relief and words of wisdom, as they called it since he had the most experience and the longest, most successful partnership they had ever heard of. It was a nice, fast-paced evening, and part of Zari's contentment came from remembering her sheltered youth. Then something dawned on her. Her childhood had been nearly perfect, and now she relished the memories. What if Mort's younger years had been horrible, which was probably not far from the truth considering the way he talked about his mother. How would it make him feel to bring all that back up and relive it? What if it made his situation worse instead of better? The thought scared her.

Mort saw her troubled face and looked concerned. "Zari, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

She was startled. "What? Oh, no. No. It's nothing. I just remembered I forgot to do something at home before I left. I, uh, forgot to feed the cat. Yeah, I think I forgot to feed Roberta before I went to work. I hope she'll be okay."

He shook his head. "Of course she'll be okay. It's a damn cat. I've heard of felines stuck in an attic for days without food or water, and they were fine. Don't worry about her. She might be pissed. They let you know when you're home past curfew and serve their dinner late, but she'll live. Christ. Who worries about a cat?"

Zari shrugged and smiled. All of a sudden, she knew what to do. She needed to talk to Walter in private. He must know something about her boss. Not only from being a regular customer and confidante, but because Merrill seemed to trust him as well. Maybe he could tell her what she needed to know to guide Mort through an exercise without making things worse.

Chapter 11

When Zari got home, she listened to her recording again but didn't want to practice on herself again. Instead, she finished the book and judged the procedure safe for Mort's purpose. None of the people in the stories, no matter how scary and dark the results of their findings, were off worse than before. Au contraire, each one's life seemed to have greatly improved and phobias and pains were noticeably reduced. That's what Zari hoped he would get out of it. Overcoming his fear of loud noises or whatever caused it would be such a burden off of his mind. She was sure he suffered from some kind of post-traumatic stress disorder. Could someone have PTSD from an abusive childhood? Even if the treatment didn't work on him, it still looked like a lot of fun to try.

The next day, a Sunday, Walter sat in his usual spot at the usual time with the same easy-going, content attitude and outlook on life. It was comforting having him around, like a beloved grandfather who enjoyed the company of his family. He seemed to have come with the fixtures. Zari sidled up next to him, indicating she wanted to talk in private. He cocked his ear in her direction.

"Walter, can we meet up somewhere? I need to talk to you about something," she whispered in his direction as she picked up his empty glass.

He nodded in his quiet, determined way. Then he did something strange. He stretched out his wrinkled hand and pointed to his fingernails. "See that? Neat and clean. Helen insists on well-kept hands, even on a man," he said and grinned. "For the past twenty-five years, every Monday at 11 o'clock, I go see the ladies at the Gentle Touch nail salon and get a manicure. Get it? MANicure? hahaha!" He laughed. "You know, that little place over on Summerhill." He looked at Zari, making sure she understood what he was saying.

"Oh, nice! They do look dashing. I might have to get one myself. Eleven, you said?" She winked at him and placed her hand on his shoulder in passing.

Zari kept biting her lip as the evening drew to a close. She wanted to tell Mort about what she found out in the book but thought it best to wait until she talked to Walter first. But as she was sweeping the floor and Mort was setting out the glasses for the next day, she couldn't restrain herself any longer.

"I've finished the book," she said, trying to sound casual. "And please don't ask me again which book I'm talking about."

"I'm listening."

"It sounds good. I honestly think the people in it are real and had some great results with the... experiment." She didn't want to say regression because it might raise a red flag and scare him off. The last thing he probably wanted to do was relive his youth if it was as traumatic as she thought.

"So what does that mean? I have to read it and it fixes all my problems?"

She recognized it as a typical mistrustful person response and sighed. "No, you don't have to read it. I can just tell you what it says. But it comes with an audio CD for some of the exercises." She held her breath, knowing this critical piece of information might make or break the deal. If he was against it from the beginning, there was no point mentioning the subject ever again. "Are you... interested in listening to it sometime?"

Mort didn't answer immediately but kept wiping glasses and arranging them on a towel. "I don't believe in that stuff." Zari's heart sank. There was not much she could do for him then and just as she was about to give up on the whole idea, he said, "But if it's important to you, I'll give it a try."

She spun around, beaming. "You would? Great! And if nothing comes out of it, it still sounds like fun. Just for the sake of trying."

He sighed, shaking his head, not believing what he agreed to. "Just don't tell my brother, okay? He'll think I've lost my fuckin' mind."

"I won't; promise. So, when do you want to do this?" Remembering her meeting with Walter the next day, she quickly added, "Just not tomorrow. I'm busy."

He shrugged. "Whenever."

The next day, she met Walter at the nail salon. She chuckled when she heard his banter with the nail lady, who clearly knew him while she trimmed his nails and massaged his hands. Zari sat on the stool next to him and asked if it was a good time to talk. It was. When Walter found out what was on her mind, he looked at her kindly and told her she was a good woman.

"His ex-wife never cared about him. She only needed him to fulfill her needs. I met her a few times and could tell she was a selfish, conniving lady who didn't give a hoot about anyone or anything unless it benefitted her. Mort is a deeply sensitive man, don't tell him I said that, but I know. He's been hurt so many times. Merrill told me a little about their growing up years. The mother was too young when she had him and blamed him for ruining her life. By the time little Mort came along, she hated her children. Can you fathom what that means?" Walter looked at her seriously. "If your own mother hates you, you can't possibly develop trust in anyone else because the foundation on which love and trust grow on never got built. Their father abandoned them often and when he was home, he beat them so brutally Merrill came this close to killing him and going to prison because it would have been still been better than living with these sorry excuses for parents. But he couldn't follow through because his brother needed him. He tried to protect him as much as he could, hid them under the trailer until the father passed out or left again, and made sure they went to school and had clothes on their backs and a little food in their bellies. Even if it meant road kill. Can you imagine the burden of a young boy taking care of his even younger brother with no one to turn to but himself?" Walter shook his head in disgust.

"They told you all this?" Zari asked gently.

Walter admitted it was hard to talk about the brothers who trusted him with their innermost feelings, and it was not often they were emotionally able to do so. But a couple times, when the drinks flowed and the atmosphere turned sentimental, their painful past gushed out. They never asked him to keep it secret, and so far, Zari was the only one who cared enough to ask. Walter said he trusted her. If he was mistaken about her, then his ability to judge people had been wrong all along.

Zari got up and thanked him, kissing him on the cheek. "Don't tell Helen about the kiss," she said and smiled. "Thank you, Walter. I had a feeling it was bad. But I never imagined it could be this bad. I really care about Mort and want and try to help. I even like Merrill. Can you believe it? There is something about him, like, I don't know. He's a jerk but has something redeeming about him, if you know what I mean."

Walter laughed out loud. "Zari, you're a spitfire. You really are, and I thank you for caring. They need it, believe me. They're such good guys. They just need a little break and a bit of acceptance and understanding." He winked at her. "I knew you were that person when you walked into the bar and asked for the job."

She gave him a hug. "Thanks for telling me, Walter. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

Now Zari felt more confused than before. She wanted to help, but what if unearthing all this trauma made everything worse? Maybe if she didn't mention the topic anymore, Mort would forget about the experiment, and he could go on with his life in which fear of thunder and being strapped for cash was still better than the absolute horror the reliving of his childhood would bring.

Chapter 12

She had several errands to run before returning home. It was a gray and dreary day, and Zari looked forward to watching a movie, sipping hot cocoa, and snuggling with her cat to conclude the day. She needed time to herself, to recharge her batteries and regroup for another busy week. By the time she got home, it was dark and windy. Ominous clouds gathered on the horizon, but she knew it wasn't supposed to rain. No storm was expected.

She prepared a quick dinner then got comfortable on the couch, searching through Netflix and selecting, 'Dear John', a movie highly recommended by her online friends. Channing Tatum, one of the actors she had a crush on, was in it, and she liked Amanda Seyfried, who played his girlfriend. When the movie was almost over, Zari heard a timid knocking sound. She turned down the volume to make sure the knock was on her door and not in the movie, but there it was again, sounding a little more desperate. She hit 'pause' and got up.

"Hello? Anybody there?" The hallway was dark, and she couldn't see anything when she looked through the peep hole. She called again. "Hello?"

"It's me, Mort," was all he said.

Zari opened the door and there he was. The sight of him almost broke her heart. He looked a mess, and she saw that he was crying, even though his hair hung over his eyes, and he had turned his face to the side. His cheeks were wet, and his shoulders heaved with sobs as he wiped a hand across his eyes and nose before finally looking at her.

"Can I come in?" he asked. Before she could answer, he stumbled forward into her arms.

She gasped and caught him just before he fell to the floor. She tried to move him into an upright position so she could drag him inside. It was a struggle, but she finally got him into the hallway and closed the door. They sat on the floor and she rocked him in her arms, waiting until he caught his breath so he could tell her what was wrong. He still held his helmet and was dressed in black motorcycle gear.

"Is everything okay with Jonathan?" Zari asked urgently.

She felt him nodding in her arms and exhaled with relief. That would be the worst thing that could happen to him; if something was wrong with his son.

"I had to sell my bike," he said between sobs. "It was the only thing I had left."

"Hush, no it's not. You have your son, and you have the bar. That's your own place, Mort. We won't let anything happen to that. I swear."

"The bar is my livelihood. The bike was what defined me, the one thing I looked forward to at the end of every day. It kept me alive, Zari. And now it's gone." He buried his face in her chest, and she kissed him on top of his head.

"Does Merrill know?"

"Not yet. He'll be pissed, but I had no choice. Eva threatened to take my kid and move to another state if I didn't help her buy a new car. I hate that bitch so much."

Zari swallowed hard. "Wait a minute. Mort, she can't just up and leave. There's a law against that. It would be considered kidnapping if she leaves the state without your permission."

"I know, but I'm too tired to fight anymore. The divorce took all my savings, and I can't afford another lawyer to keep my son here."

"Yeah, but letting her have her way every time will only make it worse. It will only be a matter of time until she asks again and what are you gonna do then? Sell the bar!?"

He sobbed harder. "You don't think I know that? It's all I worry about. But I just can't lose Jonathan, do you understand? I'll rob a bank if I have to."

"What does Merrill say? Can't he help you out some? Does he work?"

"Yeah, he's a mechanic. He helped me restore the bike and everything. He makes good money but I would never in a thousand years ask him for help. He's done enough already. I'm thirty years old, I can't keep depending on my older brother for money." Mort sounded so despaired that Zari choked up herself. "That bitch even holds the problem I have against me. That's why she's got full custody of Jonathan. She said she doesn't feel safe having me in charge of her kid when I freak out every time the weather acts up. As if I would leave him alone while I hide under the covers. When I'm with him, I just deal with it and worry about it later."

Zari sat up and made Mort move off of her. "Okay, that seals it. Listen, Mort. Let's do this. Let's try the CD on you. If nothing else, you gave it a shot. I promise the therapy won't make it worse. I actually tried it on myself, and I feel a lot better."

She didn't tell him she recorded her session because she planned on recording him without him knowing. If what Mort disclosed during regression was too much for him to bear, and if he also didn't remember anything when he woke up, he would never have to find out the origin of his worst fears.

He stood up reluctantly and raked his hair out of his face with both hands. "You think?"

She nodded.

"Okay, let's try, I guess." He followed her into the living room and saw the movie paused on the computer. "What were you watching?"

"'Dear John'. It's really good. Not tragic, but not feel-good either. I don't know, somewhere in between."

"Hmm, I didn't think you were romantic," he said.

She looked at him in surprise. "How do you know it's romantic? Have you seen it?"

"Yup. She made me watch it. I pretended to hate it, but I liked some parts."

"The Dad is nice," she said, then clasped her hands over her mouth in horror. Why did she have to say that?

"Yeah, must be nice," he said sarcastically. "A father who gives a shit. Anyway, let's do this; see what happens." He took off his leather jacket and reclined on the couch. "Ready when you are."

Ch 13

"Give me a minute," Zari said and scrambled around the room until she had everything ready to go. She placed the headphones over his ears. "Now relax and do what it says. The narrator will guide you through it." She turned on the CD player and grabbed a notepad and pencil. Before she sat down, she also turned on the voice recorder and hid it between two flower pots on the windowsill behind him.

For the first few minutes, all was quiet. Mort's eyelids fluttered and he seemed to relax. The tension of his clasped hands lessened and one arm slid off his belly, hanging loosely by his side. His countenance took on a slack expression. His mouth moved as if speaking, but no words were audible. Then his expression changed. His legs and arms jerked and then his whole body stiffened.

"What is it you want from me?" he groaned. "I did everything I could and you keep wanting more." He clenched his fists, pounding against his chest.

Zari, who started taking notes, looked up in alarm. What was happening? Mort acted as if he was possessed. What if his erratic behavior got worse? What if she couldn't bring him back out from the past? She threw down the notepad and ran to his side, placing her hands on his chest and was about to shake him awake, when he grew slack again and breathed heavily, then released all tension. "Okay, take him, you win, but I see him in the mornings and pick him up from school. It is my right, and I am his father, and I'm giving you everything I have, but I will see him." He reached up to the scar on his forehead, rubbing it as if in pain. His breath caught again and he let out a wail like a wounded animal. Again, Zari wanted to shake him awake, but this time Mort's voice changed and sounded much younger, but not yet childlike.

"What do you see, Mort? What is it telling you?" she whispered and waited.

"Merrill, please don't do it, please don't kill him. I need you," he groaned. "We can run away, I don't need school. We can go somewhere together and start a new life. Please, Merrill, put the gun down, I can't do it without you."

Tears streamed down Mort's face and Zari cried with him. This was harder than she expected. He wrung his hands, urging his brother to hand over the gun, talking him into running away with him. Finally, his face became slack, his posture relaxed and he breathed evenly.

"Up the coast," he mumbled. "Let's go. We can make it, you and I, together."

He seemed to have gotten past the scary part but before he came out of the hypnosis, he piped up again. This time the voice was that of a little boy's, scared, sounding as if he wanted to cry but forcing himself to keep his tears inside. He must have encountered his monster of a father who beat them so much but did not allow his boys to cry. Mort held his arms in front of his face to block off fists and raised his knees to his chest in defense.

At this point, Zari was horrified by what she had asked him to do and regretted talking him into it. There was no way he wouldn't remember any of this, he had to. It was all so real. Then Mort's anguish lessened noticeably and he seemed to feel safe all of a sudden. His limbs relaxed and he stretched out on the couch, appearing to be resting. A great calm came over him. His arms reached out to an invisible person.

"Merrill," he said with relief. "I'm so glad you're home." His anguish eased up even more and Mort stayed calm, starting to count back from ten to one before opening his eyes. He raised his head and looked around disoriented. Then he saw Zari.

She hoped he didn't see her tears nor notice how upset she was. "Hi," she said with a catch in her voice. "How are you?"

"Did I fall asleep? Why am I on your couch?"

"You came over because, you know, you were upset. You sold your motorcycle."

A shadow fell over his face. "Yeah, I know. Damn, that hurt. Sorry to bother you with that. I didn't know where else to go."

"I am glad you came over. That you trust me with this. I won't charge you office hours, don't worry." She laughed, trying to sound funny while waiting to see what he remembered. When he didn't mention anything, she asked, "So, um, how did it go with the experiment? You seemed, like, really relaxed." She waited.

He looked dumbfounded. "I'm not sure. I remember listening to a voice telling me to relax and think of my favorite place. Describe what I saw. I think I counted to ten and then... nothing. I don't remember what happened after that." He looked at her sheepishly. "Did I say anything?"

She swallowed, trying to stall her answer, so she could decide how much to tell him. She shrugged. "You did say things, like, how good a brother Merrill is, for example."

"I said that? Really? I mean, he is a good brother, but I don't think I ever told him." He looked contrite. "Damn. Maybe I should. I owe him my life. What else did I say?"

"Um, you know, you talked about your bike, and how much Jonathan means to you, but you already told me that before. But no, you didn't mention anything about thunderstorms or why they scare you. Unfortunately."

"Hmm...oh, well. We tried." He reached across the coffee table and picked up the CD case. "Past Life Regressions," he read. "Past lives? You mean, he's saying this is not even about the life we're in right now, but past lives?" He sounded incredulous. "Isn't that witchcraft or something? Hell, I don't want to dabble in the supernatural. That's just totally not me. Don't tell me you're into that."

"No, no. I don't believe in summoning spirits and casting spells, and this is really not that at all. It's more of a hypnosis thing to bring you to a state of mind that's always there, but hidden, you know. I just thought it would be something to try. We don't ever have to do it again if you don't want."

He sat immobilized for a minute, thinking this over. "I mean, I don't feel any worse than before, whatever it did. Maybe I didn't go back far enough to figure out the storm issue. We can try it again sometime, no?"

Ch14

Mort left a few minutes later, taking a cab to his place after he insisted he was okay and wouldn't do anything stupid. Zari stared at the windowsill where the voice recorder lay hidden. The events of the last hour still haunted her and she was afraid to touch it, much less listen to it, but then she got up and reached for it carefully as if it were too hot to touch. She pressed play and forced herself to listen, hearing him cry and plead and scream. Her heart hammered in her chest. How did they turn from such frightened little boys into these rough and badass men they were now, or were they so badass because of surviving unspeakable abuse?

There were whole shelves filled with books about the psychological effects of childhood trauma, but she didn't want to get into all that, thinking it might do more harm than benefit him. The brothers had each other, then there was Walter, and last but not least, she, Zari, would lend a listening ear whenever he needed it. She would wait for him to decide when he wanted to try regressing again.

The next night Mort acted as if everything was fine; no sold bike, no breakdown at his barmaid's pad, no side effects from his trip into the subconscious mind. Zari was relieved and gave Walter a huge smile, winking conspiratorially. He nodded, pleased and content.

Mort retreated to the back corner to answer his phone. Merrill's angry voice echoed through the room, and Zari saw Mort's shoulders slouch in defeat. He tried to explain whatever issue Merrill was upset about but it was useless, so he gave up and let his older brother finish yelling at him. It had to be about the bike because money was mentioned several times. Then Mort said, "No, Merrill, please don't. She's not worth going to prison for. Listen to me, stop saying that. Let me handle my problems. I can take care of myself. Do not go over there!"

Finally, he turned the phone off and rested his head on his arm in defeat, sighing loudly. He looked so alone and lost, it hurt Zari looking at him. Walter lumbered off his stool and hobbled over to him, placing a caring hand on Mort's shoulder, talking to him soothingly. They stood like this for several moments until Mort took off the black apron he had tied around his waist.

"Can you please take over for an hour?" he asked, looking at Zari. "I have to take care of something."

She nodded and reached for the apron, folding it gently as she watched him step outside. He hesitated at the stoop, as if not sure whether to turn left or right, then crossed the street and disappeared into the night.

Zari turned to Walter. "He had to sell his bike," she said.

Walter nodded gravely and looked concerned.

But the place was filling up and there was no time to worry about Mort, or what he might do. When everyone was served, Zari strode up to Walter. "Do you have Merrill's number? Just in case I need it someday? You know, if Mort has a panic attack or something. I would feel much better if I had it."

Walter pulled out a worn billfold from his coat pocket and opened it slowly, fingering through the compartments until he found a piece of paper which he handed to her. "That's Merrill's number. I trust you use it sparingly. He worries about him enough already with the difficult situation he's in with the ex and his son and his health problems."

"I promise, Walter." Zari added the number to her contacts and handed the paper back to Walter before hurrying behind the bar to prepare more orders.

When she looked at the clock she realized with surprise that it had been two-and-a-half hours since Mort left. She looked around for Walter and was relieved he was still there, even though it was long past his curfew. He must be feeling as uneasy as she did. Her boss never left the bar unless absolutely necessary, and then he was never gone for more than half an hour.

Zari stepped outside and looked up and down the street, then shook her head and came back inside. "No sign of him," she said, concerned. "I'm going to call his cell phone." The call went straight to voicemail, so she texted him to ask where he was. "He's not answering. Walter. Do you want to call Merrill and find out if he's with him? I'm really worried. He was so upset when he left. Or do you want me to call? Tonight is kind of an exception, isn't it?"

Walter nodded and asked her to call. "Just tell him I gave you the number because we are looking for his brother."

Merrill's phone rang several times before he answered. "Who the hell is this?" he asked gruffly. "It's nearly midnight."

"Merrill, hi. It's Zari. Walter gave me your number. Umm, do you know where Mort is? Sorry for calling so late," she stammered.

Merrill was quiet at the other end. "What do ya mean do I know where he is? I talked to him at the bar a little while ago."

"Yeah, I know, but he left right after he hung up with you. He said he would be gone an hour, but that was at nine thirty and he's not answering his phone. We're just a little worried, Walter and I."

" _Walter_ is still there? Lemme talk to him," Merrill ordered.

Zari handed the phone to Walter. "He wants to talk to you."

"Yes? No, no idea. He didn't say. We thought he went looking for you, maybe. Okay, I'll wait." Walter handed the phone back to Zari. "He's coming over."

Half an hour later, Merrill arrived, holding up Mort, who was barely able to walk and collapsed on the floor as soon as Merrill let go.

"Clear a table!" Merrill shouted and dragged his brother off the floor. "Zari, grab his inhaler from the fridge in the back room! Hurry! He's having an attack."

Merrill lifted Mort onto the table and ripped open his shirt, loosened his belt buckle and unbuttoned his jeans. Then he stood behind him and heaved him into a sitting position. He shook the inhaler and shoved it into Mort's mouth, urging him to calm down. "Breathe. Come on, take a nice deep breath. There, you're doing it. Nice and slow, and again, breathe."

Mort flailed in a crazed panic. His back arched upward and he had an iron grip around his brother's neck, gasping for air between puffs. Patrons stood around the brothers, asking if they could help or call an ambulance, but Merrill waved them away.

"No, he'll be all right as soon as he calms down. No one calls an ambulance, ya hear?"

He kept talking to his brother in a calming voice, brushing his long fringe out of his face and stroking his head. Zari was so touched by the gesture that she choked up. She turned around and saw Walter sitting quietly in his seat, observing the scene. Then his gaze drifted to the door.

Ch 15

A beautiful, dark-haired woman entered and marched straight to the table on which Merrill was helping his brother regain control of his breathing.

"Are you stalking me?" she hissed. "I saw you hanging around across the parking lot from the apartment. Right under the street light, you moron."

Mort raised himself up and lunged for her, but Merrill wrestled him back into a chokehold and yelled at her to go away. "Get out, you cock sucking whore! You come near my brother again and I'll rip your goddamn throat out! I swear!"

The woman's eyes blazed and she whipped out her phone, starting to record. "Keep going, repeat what you just said. Come on, Merrill. Say it again, and let go of your baby brother so he can tackle me, that worthless piece of shit. It's all going on my camera for evidence. You'll never see your kid again!"

Zari was so shocked by the outburst that she stood frozen on the spot, then recovered and quickly set her own phone to record. She hid behind a customer and taped the woman, who must be Eva, challenging the two men to attack her. Another customer tried to yank her away, seeing what was happening, but she eluded his grip and kept mocking the men, urging them on to fight. They were barely able to hold back, knowing that giving in to her taunting would hurt Mort's chances in court.

"Get that crazy bitch out of here, she's drunk out of her mind," Merrill yelled but didn't touch her.

Zari sidled up to a customer and whispered, "Ask her where her kid is."

He turned to look at her, confused. "What?"

"Just ask her where her kid is," she urged.

"Hey lady, where is your kid? Do you have the child with you?"

The woman squinted at him. "What the fuck do you care? It's none of your business what I do with that brat. He's home sleeping. This won't take long." She turned back to her ex.

"Are you telling me he's home alone?" Mort reared up again, and this time Merrill was too slow. "You left a five-year-old alone in an apartment in the middle of Brooklyn while you're out drinking and fucking around?!"

Mort lunged at her again, but Merrill grabbed him by the shirt which almost came off and pulled him back just in time. He had noticed Zari in the crowd holding up her phone and a devilish smile lit up his face.

Eva flipped Mort the finger and yelled, "Prove it! I have a cab waiting outside! I'll get there faster than you will!"

"Got it, bitch. Smile, you're on camera. This is going straight to family court!" Zari shouted and held up her phone.

Eva's face twisted into an evil grimace before she flung herself at Zari. "You little bitch, you give me that phone right now!"

Zari stepped to the side and Eva landed face first on the floor, the phone she was holding skittering underneath a bar stool. Zari kicked it out of reach then waited for her to get up. She beckoned her closer and Eva roared toward her, fists raised in fury. With one swift movement, Zari punched the woman squarely in the face, knocking her back on the floor, and this time she stayed down, blood dripping out of her mouth and nose.

The men stood rooted to the spot, mouths hanging open. Zari recognized a few Fight Club members and it sank in what she had done. She sheepishly rubbed her knuckles.

"That was some punch," one of the guys said, full of admiration. "Where did you learn to hit like that, sweetheart?"

She grinned bashfully. "Pole Fitness, I guess. It takes incredible strength to hold yourself up on a pole." She kept rubbing her hand, proud of herself.

Merrill walked up to her, laughing. He slapped her on the back with such force that she toppled forward. "Sorry, forgot you're not one of the guys." He didn't sound mean, just honest. She couldn't be mad at him, especially after she saw how gentle and concerned he was with his sick brother.

Mort sat on the table holding his chest, grinning. "Knocked that piece of shit right out." Then he remembered. "Fuck, my kid! He's probably scared out of his mind."

He straightened his clothes and left with Merrill running after him, yelling over his shoulders, "Tie that bitch down 'til we get back!"

'The bitch' lay moaning on the floor, holding her nose and cursing like a sailor. She rolled over and tried to get up, but Zari put a foot on her back until one of the guys held her down. The crowd slowly dispersed and paid their bills, but waited until the brothers came back with the boy.

Mort walked in carrying Jonathan wrapped in a blanket. He placed him carefully on a bench behind the bar, mumbling to him in a gentle voice and stroking his hair. Merrill pocketed Eva's phone before pulling her up and dragging her outside, where he stuck her head-first into a garbage can. Zari, who filmed Mort tending to his son, followed Merrill outside, still recording. Eva screamed like a banshee, while Merrill took several pictures of her with her legs up in the air, thrashing to get out.

When she finally managed to free herself, Merrill held up the phone and hissed, "Plenty of footage, bitch. You come near my brother again and this goes public. I will personally destroy you. That is a promise from a true asshole who's not afraid ta go ta jail." He leaned closer. "I would kill for him and that little boy. I ain't got nobody depending on me, but Jonathan is all he's got, and I ain't lettin' anybody mess with them or their hearts. I'll rip yers out and eat it raw like a savage, do ya understand?"

Eva was sobbing with shock and frustration. The mascara ran down her cheeks, leaving a wild design. Merrill took another picture, holding the camera high up out of her reach.

Zari followed him back inside, proud like a mother whose child just won the Nobel Prize, albeit probably not for Peace. Now it was she who slapped him on the shoulder so hard he almost sank to his knees.

"You're the baddest, coolest, most awesomest big brother I have ever met, Merrill! That was epic! We really pulled it off, man. D'you think she'll leave him alone?"

"Who knows? Maybe for a while, but I hope I scared her enough ta not try any more shit."

"Could she have you arrested for making terroristic threats?"

"She could if she had witnesses," he said and winked at her. "I don't think anybody in there would testify against us, but ya never know. If she offers some sweet stuff, they might. But I'm not worried about it. The situation's already as bad as it can get, so if she takes him away now, at least she'll have ta look over her shoulders for the rest of her life, no matter where she goes."

"You're right. Mort will probably wake up tomorrow, thinking he dreamed it all. It's that crazy."

"Not much different from how we grew up, but it's getting old. I'm done with the bullshit. A little house with a vegetable garden, couple flowers, good home cooking, the occasional apple pie; that would be the ticket now, but we'll see. I don't get the feeling it'll happen anytime soon." He sounded wistful.

"Put your mind to it," Zari said, "You never know what's around the corner."

Inside, Mort and a couple guys were turning chairs up on tables and cleaning up. Walter was still around, a glimmer in his eyes. Whether it was from tiredness or excitement, it was hard to tell. He would need a ride home, and Merrill offered to call and pay for a cab, which Walter gladly accepted.

"You boys," he said, shaking his head, "You boys are really something. Remind me of myself not too long ago. If you two were my sons, I'd be one proud papa," he announced.

Merrill wrapped his arm around the little old man and pulled him close. "You are our pop a hundred thousand times more than our old man ever was. We're proud ta know ya, Walter."

Mort told them to stop it with the horse shit and help him close up so he could take his son home to bed where he belonged.

Ch 16

Zari sat on her bed and let the evening run through her mind. So much happened during the past twenty-four hours that she needed to decompress before being able to fall asleep. Jonathan was safe with his father, and Merrill stayed with them overnight to make sure both were okay after their scares, but she worried about them regardless because she cared. Such a sweet little boy who had the misfortune of being born to a bitch mother who couldn't be bothered to give him even a shred of emotional security, and two damaged men for an uncle and father. She sighed heavily and rolled on her side. Roberta slept in the space next to her, and Zari reached out and tickled her under her chin. The cat immediately purred.

Before Zari knew it, she fell asleep and woke up to rain a few hours later. It took her a minute to collect her wits about what day it was when she remembered punching Eva in the face and the important evidence she had stored on her phone. There was no way in hell that woman would give up so easily, and Zari felt the fight was on. But not a fight between her and Eva, which she could easily handle. No, it would decide the fate of a little boy. Zari felt a sick feeling gather in her stomach which she knew from experience as a bad sign.

She threw back the sheets and was about to get up when her phone pinged. She figured it would be Mort, who must be itching to find out what happened outside last night, or yell at her for hitting his ex and making things worse for them. They probably already had a lawsuit at hand.

Heart pounding, Zari checked the message. It was from him. She clicked it open with trepidation then slapped her hand over her mouth. He wanted to meet at the hotel. It was raining, after all.

"What about Jonathan? And your brother?"

"A deal is a deal," he responded. "M is taking J to school, then going to work. The morning is free."

She couldn't believe it. Did men only think with their dicks? After all that happened yesterday?

"Come as you are," she answered. "I'm not bringing anything special. We need a break. Oh, and no more chocolates. I'm serious. I need to watch my weight." She got dressed and tussled her hair with her fingers, adding a little perfume before she left the apartment. She couldn't imagine what made him want to have sex after all the drama they went through but whatever. Like he said, a deal was a deal.

When she arrived he was already in the room, naked except for his briefs. She laughed. "I see you're ready to ride, cowboy. Aren't you exhausted from all the hullabaloo last night?" She jumped on the bed and kissed him on the nose.

Mort pulled her closer and looked at her with intense blue eyes, slowly shaking his head. "Mm-mm. It's my turn today, remember."

She lay on her back, pressed against him. "It sure is. Let's see what you've got."

He ran his fingers across her forehead and around to her cheek, along the side of her neck then down to unbutton her flower-print blouse. He bent over her and kissed her on the lips with such tenderness that she gasped. She expected him to have his way with her, maybe even throw her around, and now he was this gentleman who acted as if he was dealing with a jittery first timer giving up her virginity.

Zari closed her eyes and let the moment take over, her nerve endings igniting below his touch, leaving a trail of goosebumps under his fingertips. He peeled her out of her clothes, one piece at a time until she was naked like him. He had already wriggled out of his underwear.

Mort lay on top of her and joined her so gently that she realized with a start he was not having sex. He was making love to her.

He came before her but was aware of it. He moved on his side and finished what he started by stroking her tender spot until she bucked her hips in pleasure. She let her relief fade and slowed her breath in stunned silence.

"Didn't think I could be this nice, did you?" he asked quietly.

"I didn't expect that. I don't think I ever saw this side of you."

"Yeah. I keep it hidden for a reason."

When he didn't continue, she said, "Well, you kind of started a story, so are you going to finish it?"

"I'm not comfortable talking about it, but I'll try." He turned on his back with his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling. Zari rested her head on his chest and ran her fingertips over his hard, flat belly, waiting for him to continue. She didn't rush him.

"By the way, I want to thank you for last night. Merrill told me everything. I can't believe you knocked her out. She deserved it, but if I or Merrill would have done it, we'd go to jail. And thanks for keeping the place going while I was gone. I wanted to make sure my brother wouldn't do anything stupid because I had to sell the bike. I'm hoping to keep Jonathan, but there's no telling what she'll do. She's an idiot, but she knows her way around the system. Anyway, back to the story. We grew up in a holler, a place between the rolling hills of West Virginia. I can't even describe how poor we were. But, that's not important. Folks made it work and some turned it into a damn good life, but with such assholes such as our parents, it was hell." He stopped briefly. "I've met this girl in high school, Mary Lee. She liked me too. We wanted to run away together but her parents found out and forbade the relationship. They wouldn't let her see me anymore because we were hicks. It tore out my heart. My old man used to beat us so much I still have scars, but this pain was so much worse than anything he ever did. I swore to myself I would never let anyone get close again, never wanted to feel such agony." He sighed deeply.

"What about Jonathan's mother?" Zari asked.

"That wasn't love. We hooked up, she got pregnant. I wanted to do the right thing. As usual, it backfired."

Zari stuck a finger into his belly button. "What caused your asthma attack last night? I mean, does it come on randomly, or is it triggered by something; just so I know what to do if it ever happens here."

"I was frustrated because Merrill threatened to go over there and raise hell, so I waited around in case he showed up. I was so upset, I hyperventilated, and then I couldn't breathe. Usually, something sets it off, but so far sex hasn't, so we should be good." He grinned slyly.

"Aha, that's a comfort. By the way," Zari said, "don't worry about me getting pregnant. I'm on birth control, and I don't want children. I never did, and I don't care what anyone thinks."

"You sound adamant. May I ask why? Or why you're only looking for sex, not commitment?"

"It just makes things easier. And I told you about my scuba diving dream, which is the most important thing in my life right now, so I don't want anything to interfere with that. She looked at him. "What would be your dream if you could do or have anything you wanted?"

Mort rubbed her back with one hand, reaching for his cigarettes on the nightstand with the other. He lit up and took a deep drag. "You'll laugh if I tell you."

"Oh, come on, you know me better than that. I won't, pinky swear. Do you want me to guess?" she asked.

"That might be dangerous. But okay, give it a shot."

"Hm." She squinted and looked him over as if appraising him. "Your dream is to climb Mount Kilimanjaro, bungee jump from the Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe, motorbike across the US, and become a gold digger out West. Close?"

"That's it, you're psychic. Okay, I'll just come out with it, but you'll think I'm crazy. I... I want to be an actor." Mort looked embarrassed.

Zari let it sink in. "An actor? You mean, like in a show? At the theater?"

"No, more like on TV or the movies. Crazy, right?"

"Not crazy at all, just unexpected. Have you ever performed on stage when you were in school?"

"Not really. I didn't know what I wanted back then. I was too consumed with surviving. Once Merrill and I moved to the city, I kind of woke up and realized it's what interested me. At least I was able to get rid of most of my accent. I used to sound like Merrill." He chuckled. "Don't laugh, but sometimes I stand in front of the mirror and act out a scene."

"Actually, it's not that surprising when you think about it. You had to survive a very traumatic childhood and in your mind, you probably developed an escape mechanism and pretended to have a different life, like in a nice family and safe environment. Now that you're removed from all that, this role-playing is still there waiting to come out. That is your creative side, like dancing is for me. If I'd suppress it, I would feel very frustrated and probably self-destructive." She could tell the logic blew his mind.

"Hot damn, are you a psych major or something? How do you know all this stuff?" He sounded genuinely impressed. "It makes so much sense. But what can I do about it? My life's a mess and I'm stuck. At least as long as Jonathan needs me. Don't get me wrong. I love him to death, but any dream is a long ways off."

"Who says you have to wait till he's grown up? You have your mornings free. Sign up for an acting class or try out for a part. Don't give me that crap about being stuck. I need ten thousand dollars for my dream. How hopeless do you think that makes me feel?"

He extinguished the cigarette and pulled her closer to him, then started running his lips lightly over her face, her fingertips, neck, chest, and belly while his fingers stroked the inside of her thighs. She arched up but he made her wait.

"Lay on your belly," he said.

Zari detangled herself and turned over, awaiting with anticipation for his next move. She felt drops drizzling on her back and butt, and down the length of her legs. He rubbed his hands together to heat them up, and placed them on her shoulders from where he started an incredibly sensuous massage, putting pressure on all the right places and lingering where he sensed it felt extra good. Her nerves vibrated along, humming under her skin and letting her forget her surroundings.

An hour passed and Mort still kneaded her body like pliable dough, charging himself up along with her pleasure. She couldn't wait any longer and lifted her butt as she opened her legs, and he straddled her from behind, entering her in two quick thrusts. He pinned her to the spot for a moment before slowly pulling back and thrusting again, holding her ankles on each side. She met him halfway, and they collided in a powerful rhythm, grunting in tandem. He reached around to her front and massaged her clit while building up to his own peak. When he felt she was close, he harnessed his lust and waited until she gave into hers, so he could be fully present as she lost control and for several seconds, belonged completely to him. While she still ebbed, he let go and rocked toward his own climax he so ached to achieve.

They stretched out next to each other, relaxing until it was time for him to pick up his son and figure out where to go and what to do from there.

While they got dressed, Mort thought of something. "Merrill told me you videotaped in the bar last night. Do you still have it?"

She laughed. "Of course I still have it. It's not Snapchat." She pulled out her phone and selected the recording, then handed it to him.

He sat on the bed and watched, marveling. "Damn, that might come in real handy one day. Can I forward it to my phone?" When she nodded, he pressed a few buttons, then continued watching the rest. Eva laying on the floor and cursing, and then the one where Zari followed Merrill outside. Mort's eyes bugged out when he saw what his brother did to his ex.

"He stuffed her in a fuckin' trash can?! I can't believe it! Well, actually I can. He would."

Then came Merrill's speech about how much his brother and the boy meant to him. Mort held the phone closer to his ear, replayed it and listened again. He was very quiet and Zari saw his eyes well up.

"Damn. He said all that?" Mort turned off the phone and stared out the window. "Thank God for him," he mumbled before getting up to go.

Zari gave him a hug and placed her head on Mort's solid chest. She felt his heart pounding and held him tight. He didn't respond, and she knew he was emotional and near tears right now. She propped herself on tiptoes and gave him a quick kiss.

"See you later, Mort. I really hope everything works out with your son."

They left the hotel together, then turned different directions, both deeply in thought. This could go either way, depending on Eva's next step. But Merrill was right. It was already so bad it could only get better.

Ch 17

"Where is Jonathan?" Zari asked as soon as she arrived at work.

Mort nodded toward the back room. "Doing his homework until Merrill picks him up. I haven't heard from Eva since last night." He looked tense. "No telling what that bitch has planned."

"Write everything down every day to keep a record of what happened and who said what and when. You'll need it if you have to go back to court," Zari advised.

He shrugged and admitted it was a good idea. "It's something to keep me occupied, I guess. I can't do much else until I know what she wants to do."

"Have you tried calling her?"

"She doesn't have her phone. Merrill took it." He looked helpless.

"Why don't you go over there and see if you can talk to her? I'll keep the place running."

He didn't answer but she knew he worked it over in his mind. Zari looked in on Jonathan, who ran up to her when he saw her. She brushed over his head and told him to let her know if he needed help with anything. The boy was so cute and well behaved, it nearly broke her heart. Merrill arrived half an hour later and picked up Jonathan to take him to Mort's place, where Merrill and the boy would stay until they knew what was what.

"Any word from the lovely lady?" Merrill asked.

"Nope. She doesn't have a phone," Mort reminded him.

"Well, golly gee. I'm sure she'll find a way to get in touch with ya so she can ruin yer life further. Especially after what I did to her las' night." He nodded toward Zari. "Did she tell ya?"

Mort nodded. "I saw the video. We're dead."

Merrill wasn't worried. "I threw her in the trash where she belongs, and we have footage of her admitting she neglected the boy. In front of ever'body. Let her step forward. Uncle Merrill is ready. I think I would make a splendid father. Right, lil brother?"

Mort guffawed. "Father of the Year, no doubt. God, I wish you had a kid. A little girl. Man, you'd be toast."

After Merrill left with the boy, Mort had made up his mind and asked Zari to take over for a while. At least this time he told her and Walter where he was going. He needed to talk to Eva to find out what the game plan was, so he could prepare Jonathan as to who would pick him up from school and whose place he was going afterward. The kid was too sensitive to be jerked around. Zari and Walter promised to look after everything, for as long as he needed.

An hour later Mort was back, shaking his head. "She's gone," he announced in a daze. "Packed up and left. No message, no nothing. Not much different than my old lady." He sighed.

They were as surprised as he was. "What are you gonna do?" Zari asked.

"Take care of my kid and wait. Not much else I can do. Let me call Merrill, Maybe he knows something." When he returned, he shook his head. "He hasn't heard anything either. He wants to ask Jon if he knows where his Mom went, but I hope I talked him out of it with the gentle ways he has about him."

By week's end, there was no sign of Eva, and Mort retrieved the few things Jonathan had in his mother's apartment and moved them into his. He was happy to have his son with him, but of course, this presented other problems. Merrill could not be expected to stay with them, he had his own and rather active private life. Mort asked around for a babysitter, but they were expensive and good ones were far and few between.

Zari suggested turning the back room into a playroom with a futon to sleep on and a TV and toys, and they could look in on him anytime they wanted. Walter offered to sit with him and help with homework, but Mort was worried that having his kid live in a bar would work against him when he sought sole custody. But he realized at this time he didn't have much choice, so that is what they did.

He cleared out the stuff he stored in the back room and made more space that way. Zari brought in a rug and stuffed animals from her place. Walter sent a small U-Haul with a mattress and bedding, as well as a recliner, and suddenly the place looked homey. Mort was still on the fence, but Jonathan loved it. He was surrounded by people who adored him, and he only asked once about his mother, who seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth. They wished.

On Friday, after the 'Unhappy Wives' found out what happened, they left their drinks untouched and took Jonathan under their wings, which meant shopping. When they came back, Mort thought they'd have to rent the U-Haul again. There were bags everywhere. The kid was dressed like a fashion horse. Mort stared at him slightly distressed.

Zari clasped her hands over her mouth, laughing. This was awesome. There hadn't been that much cooing and coddling in the bar since its grand opening. When Merrill swept in later, he did a double take.

"Boy, howdy, looks like someone has a date. What do ya know? He's doing better than all of us." He offered his arm to his nephew and bowed gallantly.

Jonathan squealed with delight. The ladies took him to their table and Zari brought him a Coke, treating him like an honored guest. Mort observed the scene shaking his head in mock despair, then told them to stop the crap and quit putting ideas in his head.

"Don't let him get used to something we can't keep up," he reprimanded. "He needs stability and normalcy more than anything else now."

A few days later, Zari arrived at work finding Jonathan on a jacked-up barstool with a plastic bag clipped to his collar, and Mort awkwardly trying to cut the boy's golden curls. She stashed her pocketbook in the cubby behind the bar and watched, unsure whether to step in or trust that he knew what he was doing. It soon became clear that he didn't, and she knew this because she had been trained as a hairdresser after high school while she figured out what to do with her life.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Really? You have to ask?" Mort sounded stressed.

"Well, it looks like you're cutting hair, but it's clearly not."

"Then what is it, clearly?"

"Holding up fistfuls of hair, sawing them off with blunt scissors, and rendering Samson weak."

He looked up, confused. "What?"

"Never mind. Read the Bible. You'll see what I mean. Here, give them to me," Zari said and held her hand out for the scissors.

He handed them over reluctantly. "What are you going to do with them?"

"The same thing you did, except the right way. I went to beauty school in my old life." She asked Jonathan how much he wanted her to cut off.

After he told her, "Just enough so I can see out of my eyes," she went to work.

Turning to Mort she said, "Next time let me know when you do this, so I can bring my good scissors. But this will do for now." Jonathan's hair was still long but now had a shape to it and framed his face just right, making him look even more like a cherub.

"What else can you do, or better, what can't you do?" Mort asked after thanking her for the cut.

"Oh, a little of this and a little of that. Figuring out what I'm good at," she answered lightly.

Just then a rather plain looking woman entered the bar, and after taking a look around, marched up to Mort and pointed her finger at him. "Are you Merrill's brother?"

Mort, who was drying a glass, looked at her in alarm. "Is he all right? What's going on?"

The woman sneered. "Yeah, far as I know he's all right. Just tell the slug to give me a call. I have something to tell him." She handed Mort a piece of paper with her name and number scribbled on it, turned around and left as quickly as she came.

"Wonder what that was about. Hmm." Mort stuffed the note in his pocket and went back to work. Later, during a break, he called Merrill to tell him about the mysterious visitor but couldn't find the note. "Hold on, let me get her number." He checked his pockets, the floor, garbage can, nothing. It was gone. "Damnit, I don't know what I did with that blasted piece of paper. Don't you know who I'm talking about? She looked like something that came out of the bell tower."

"Mort!" Zari shouted. "That is so mean! She wasn't that ugly." But she couldn't help laughing. "You're an ass."

Merrill had no idea who it was that came looking for him. He really juggled that many women and couldn't keep track. "If it's important, she'll be back," he concluded and they left it at that.

"Here, I want to show you something," Zari said and turned on her phone. She selected a site and held it under Mort's nose.

He squinted at the screen. "What is it?"

"Look closer. I found acting classes. There's one three times a week in the mornings. It would be perfect. Please let me sign you up."

"Acting classes? I told you it's just a dumb dream. I'm in the middle of sorting out Jonathan. There's no time or money for classes." His face was pinched and he sounded mad.

"They don't start until next month. By then you'll have things figured out. He's in school anyway. Mort, listen. Give it a try, just once. It's not a commitment for life. It'll let you know if that's what you really want to do. Remember what we talked about in the hotel? Please."

He drew a deep breath and finally said, "Dammit, woman, then sign me up. But only this one time."

"Consider it done!" She turned the phone off. "I already signed you up and paid for it. They fill up fast. Happy whenever birthday!"

He looked up in surprise. "Who told you?"

"Told me what?"

"That it's my birthday today."

"Are you kidding me? I had no idea!" She flung her arms around his neck and hugged him, then planted a big kiss on his cheek. "What perfect timing. Happy birthday, boss! Hopefully, next year by this time, you're a famous actor, and your son is with you, and Merrill is happily married, and I am diving in Fiji, and everyone lives happily ever after!"

He laughed, looking a bit embarrassed by her outburst. 'Yeah, that would be nice. But it's only gonna be a dream."

Ch 18

Two weeks went by. Mort stopped looking for Eva, who had vanished without a trace. Jonathan loved being in the back room after school and behaved almost too perfectly for a child his age. He did his homework, watched TV, played, and went to bed when told. The only thing Mort didn't like was to rouse his son in the middle of the night and take him home after the bar closed. It did take a toll on the boy, who had a hard time getting up in the morning and paying attention in school, so one day, Mort announced that he wanted to try something different. He'd brought an overnight bag and his mutt, Tolstoi, who lay snoring under the counter, and told Jonathan they would have a special adventure: a sleepover in the room behind the bar. If it worked, Mort told Zari, they might have to resort to this arrangement during school nights, no matter how bad it sounded.

Merrill, who stopped by after work, didn't like the idea, but Jonathan was not his son, and there wasn't much he could do. "It just sounds like something our old man would've done."

Mort looked at him sharply. "Don't ever compare me to that asshole."

Merrill shut up and slapped him on the shoulder. "Sorry, lil brother. You're right."

Jonathan was excited about the adventure of sleeping in a bar, even after his father told him not to tell anyone in school.

"You don't want them to be jealous, do you?" Mort asked.

The boy shook his head. "No, daddy. I promise I won't tell. Not even my teacher, Ms. Jingle."

Mort smiled and patted him on the head. "That's my boy. We don't want Ms. Jingle to be jealous, either. Now get ready and brush your teeth. I'll tuck you in in five minutes."

"And I will tell you a bedtime story," Zari promised. Looking at Mort she added, "A real short one. Don't worry, boss."

"Oh, goody! Bedtime stories!" Jonathan yelled and skipped into the bathroom.

Mort gave Zari a dirty look. "Thanks a lot. Now he's gonna want one every night. I don't have time for that."

"Yes, you do. You're his dad and you have five minutes. Just think, you can act them out and practice!" Zari clapped her hands, laughing.

Mort tried slapping her with a towel, but she quickly ducked out of the way. "I'm coming, Jonathan."

She returned a few minutes later, just in time to see the homely looking woman who stopped by a couple weeks ago marching through the door, this time with a toddler in her arms. She plopped a rather large bag on the floor. Mort hid behind the counter, but it was too late. She marched toward him, then changed her course when she saw Merrill in the corner.

"Why didn't you call me?" she demanded. "Well, never mind. It wouldn't have changed a thing. Do you even remember me?" she asked and stared at him with piercing eyes.

Merrill opened and closed his mouth like a carp. Zari stood rooted to the spot, and Mort approached from behind the counter, mesmerized. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion.

"I, I, I-yeah, sure. Of course, I remember you. Maryann, Martha, Mildred..." he stammered.

The woman sighed and rolled her eyes. "Rowena. Never mind." She moved the child to her other arm. "This is our daughter. Your daughter, Amelia, and she needs to stay with you awhile. I can't take care of her anymore. I need to figure something out, so...at least I already did the dirty work and waited until she was potty trained." Looking at the cute ginger, Rowena said, "Ain't that right, Amelia? Here." She bent down and deposited her in front of Merrill. "Say hi to your daddy. You'll be staying with him now. Remember what mommy told you and be a good girl." Turning to Merrill, she handed him the bag and prattled on. "Her birth certificate and shot records and all her things are in here." Then she turned and left, just like that, slamming the door behind her.

Merrill jumped from his seat and ran after her, yelling for her to come the hell back, or he'll have the cops all over her ass. But she must have gotten away because he came back without her, shaking his head. "She had a cab waiting." Then he stared dumbfounded at the scared little girl and dropped to his knees in front of her.

Mort busted out laughing uncontrollably at the situation they suddenly found themselves in. "Boy, we sure know how to pick them, don't we, Merl?" He gasped for air, slapping his thighs. "This is fuckin unreal, dude, I can't believe this just happened!"

Merrill looked pissed and freaked out at the same time. "There is no way this is my kid. We have to go to the police and file a report, a... a... a missing mother report."

Zari picked up the little girl, who clutched a fabric doll and sucked on her thumb, not grasping what was going on. She immediately cuddled into Zari, who patted her back reassuringly. Walter wisely stayed out of the drama until it settled into a more coherent situation.

"Let me see the birth certificate," Zari ordered. Merrill, grateful for somebody taking charge, snapped to attention and fished through the bag until he found a manila envelope containing a few documents. "Here. Birth certificate and health records," he said and handed it over to Zari.

She scanned the certificate. "Amelia Jean Boanerges. Born in Queens on July 25, 2014. To mother, Rowena Fitzgerald, and father, Merrill Boanerges. She's two and a half now, so what month does that make her being conceived in?"

Merrill scratched the stubble on his head and asked for a pen and paper. "I have to write it down."

"Early November 2013," Walter said.

"Early November? I don't remember anybody in November. That was the time I was laid up in the hospital to get my hernia fixed, and I wasn't sweet on any nurse, far as I remember, unless it happened under sedation. So it couldn't've been me." He sounded relieved.

"What about late October?" Zari asked.

"No, late October was..." Merrill sputtered to a halt. "Late October is Halloween. I took somebody home from a Halloween party in Greenwich, but she didn't look like that haint who was just here!"

The three adults looked at Merrill, waiting for it to sink in. "What? What are y'all staring at? I said the one I remember didn't look that pale and scrawny."

"Okay, what did the one from Halloween look like?" Mort asked.

"Like Batgirl or Catwoman. I forget." Then his eyes blazed with comprehension. "Wait a minute. D'you all mean b'cause she wore a costume, I didn't recognize her without all the paint and dress-up?" He was stunned.

"Well, no shit, Sherlock," Mort said and rolled his eyes. "That's exactly what we mean." He carefully took the little girl out of Zari's arms and looked her over at arm's length. "And who are you, little lady?"

The girl smiled bashfully and whispered, "Amelia Jean. Are you my daddy, too?"

Mort held her close, rocking her. "No, sweetie. You only have one daddy, and regrettably it's this bloke over there. I am your uncle Mort. And over in there," he said, pointing to the back room door, "is my little boy, Jonathan. He's your cousin, but he's sleeping right now so we'll wait until tomorrow to have you two meet. Sound good?"

Amelia nodded gravely. She had the milkiest, most delicate skin, the biggest blue eyes, and the softest, wavy red hair they had ever seen. Turning to Merrill, Mort said, "You were a redhead when you were little. I saw pictures."

Merrill seemed to have gotten his composure back and said in a raspy voice, "Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle. I walked in here a few hours ago, free as a bird with no responsibilities ta anybody, and now I'm the father of a little girl who's already out of diapers. What do I do now?" he asked, contrite.

"You start getting to know each other and offer her a bottle of milk or something to eat, would be my first guess," Mort said. He held Amelia next to Merrill's face. "Yup, she's your daughter. Same frown and sarcastic expression."

"So what do you think he's gonna do with her?" Zari asked as she swept under the tables.

Merrill had gone out for ice cream with Amelia before taking her home. They didn't expect to see them until tomorrow, but when they were about to lock up, he came back with her asleep on his shoulders.

"Uh, how about we all have a sleepover here tonight?" he asked sheepishly. "Even Zari, if she wants to."

"Nice try. Take that precious little girl home, or go to my place and stay there, but we don't have room for all of us on the mattress; even though it's huge," Mort said.

Zari pulled him aside. "I think he's nervous because he doesn't know what to do when she wakes up. We could make it work. He can sleep in the recliner, and the kids and you can squeeze together on the mattress. It's your chance to help him out for a change, especially since he's always there for you."

"You've gotta be kidding, but okay," Mort said, quite literally throwing in the towel.

Zari dug through Amelia's bag and found pajamas and clean underwear, which she handed to Merrill. "Can you change her into her sleep clothes? And don't forget to take her potty before she goes to bed."

Merrill looked frightened. "I have to change her? But, but, but, she's a little girl," he stammered.

Zari crossed her arms and took a step backward.

"But, but, but, she's your daughter. Now go and do your job, Father of the Year. Go on, you can do it. Me and Zari will supervise," Mort encouraged his brother, grinning gleefully.

Merrill hesitated, then snapped to attention and placed his little girl on the mattress on which Jonathan was sleeping. He averted his eyes as he peeled her out of her clothes and laboriously changed her into her pajamas. Amelia complied in quiet wonderment. When she came back from the bathroom and jumped on the mattress, Jonathan woke up. He looked bewildered when he saw a little girl in his bed, surrounded by three adults.

"Dad?"

"Jon, this is your new cousin, Amelia. And guess what, we're having a slumber party, yay!"

Jonathan and Amelia burst into tears. "I want my mommy!" both sobbed. Mort and Merrill looked horrified. Zari sighed and stepped in to help, but the men created such mayhem as they tried to calm the children that it made everything ten times worse. Eventually they all sat on the mattress like a box of spilled kittens, cursing, crying and bribing, and it took another twenty minutes before things settled down.

In the end, it was the kids who determined who would sleep where. Jonathan fell asleep pressed to the wall next to his father. Merrill was stretched out opposite him, his feet next to his brother's head, with Amelia a full yard away and curled into a ball at the end of the mattress. Zari was assigned to the recliner. But things were quiet and that was all that mattered to them at two thirty in the morning.

Before Zari drifted off to sleep, she heard Mort mumble, "What a bunch of misfits. What the hell happened to my bar?"

She awoke an hour later to a tremendous thunder clash followed immediately by a strike of lightning so bright and strong that the house shook in its foundation and the whole room lit up. Then all the street lights went out, shrouding the room in complete darkness. Zari heard Mort yelp, then hyperventilate, and jumped from her chair. It was too dark to see anything, so she felt her way around the mattress on her hands and knees.

The first thing she encountered were Merrill's legs, but he jerked away the moment she touched him. A moment later, she could hear him urging his brother to calm down, to follow him out so he wouldn't wake the kids, but Mort was in such a state he couldn't hear a word he said.

Zari inched her way toward him, but Merrill already threw himself over Mort and held him in an iron grip, which seemed to help control his breathing. Mort still sounded petrified, and Merrill whispered urgently, trying to move him off the mattress and out to the bar area, where he had more space and was able to talk to him in a normal voice. He finally had him wrestled away from his sleeping son when both children woke up and the howling began anew. Mort was whimpering with anguish now.

The storm grew stronger and unleashed its fury directly above them. Merrill cursed and Zari, who felt her way to the bar for a flashlight, returned to watch Merrill trying to slap sense into his brother, who trembled on the floor in a state of panic.

"All right, listen up everybody!" Zari yelled above the din, shining the flashlight at the tangled mess on the floor. Kids, arms, legs, noise, all periodically illuminated by a bolt of lightning, which cast the scene into an eerie glow.

Nobody paid any attention and the drama continued. Amelia probably thought her mother dropped her off at a nut house, but the little girl sat quietly in a corner and watched with big eyes. Zari picked her up and Amelia wrapped her chubby arms around her neck, holding on tight. Then Zari noticed Jonathan watching his dad dissolved in a panic with Uncle Merrill lying on top of him, wrestling him to the ground. Jonathan pulled on Merrill's arm, trying to get him away from his father, thinking his uncle was hurting him. When that didn't work, he started beating him with his fists, screaming to let his daddy go, and Zari knew she had to step in. She gently deposited Amelia in the recliner, then hurried to pull Jonathan away from the men and into her arms, telling him Uncle Merrill wasn't hurting his daddy but trying to calm him down. She didn't want him to find out how afraid he was of thunder and lightning because that fear could transfer to the boy, so she told him daddy had a bad dream and Uncle Merrill was waking him up to let him know everything was okay.

Zari grabbed both children and carried them into the next room so Merrill could take care of his brother. She warmed milk with a little honey and assured them that even though the storm made a lot of noise, there was nothing to be afraid of because they were safely inside an old building that had survived thousands of storms and was still standing. The children huddled around her and they waited out the storm together.

When things quieted down, Merrill emerged from the back room, wiping his forehead.

"They can go back in. He's okay for now," he said, exhausted. "What a night."

As soon as Amelia and Jonathan were asleep, Mort got up and asked Zari to follow him out. He told Merrill to stay with the kids while he talked to Zari. She knew the night was over.

"Listen, I need your help. I can't go on like this," he said desperately. "I'll try prayer, anything to get rid of this terror."

She knew what he was referring to when he asked for her help. "I don't have the CD with me."

"Do you remember anything about the process? Counting to ten and going through that door or whatever?"

She didn't think she could do it, but she didn't want to refuse him either. He was so damn vulnerable right now that she wanted to at least give it a try. If it didn't work, they could do it again with the CD another time. She told him so.

Mort looked around for a suitable chair to relax in and found an upholstered bench which he pulled up next to the wall, then propped his head on his balled-up hoodie and closed his eyes. He reached for her hand and held on. Zari took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and tried to remember how to begin the countdown into hypnosis. She didn't expect the regression to go as deep as with the professional narrator, but maybe they could unearth something that triggered a memory and provided a clue.

She gently asked him to relax, think of a pleasant memory, let his thoughts linger, start counting to ten and with each number, go a little further down an imaginary staircase into a hallway with several doors. When he reached ten, she asked him to pick a door and step through. Then she waited.

Mort began to mumble incoherently, but slowly it began making sense as he talked about his mother. He did recall a time when she carried him in her arms and he felt safe, but then something must have happened and he jerked, then called to her several times but didn't seem to get an answer. He sounded out of breath from running fast, and he kept calling her name, then stopped abruptly.

"You are safe. Everything is okay. Tell me what you see, Mort," Zari said.

"A car; blue. It's my mother's. She's in it, but it's not moving." His breathing slowed.

"Can you see her?"

"She's inside, but I can't see her."

"Can you go closer? Look through the windows."

"No, not in the windows. She's there but I can't see her. Smoke."

"You see smoke?"

"Smell smoke. The car. She's inside." His eyes moved frantically under the lids, and his grip on her hand strengthened. "She's in the car, but I can't find her."

"Maybe she got out ..."

"In the trunk."

"What's in the trunk, Mort?"

Tears ran down his cheeks. "She's in the trunk. She's burning. I can't save her. She did it. With a match. And gasoline. Locked herself in the trunk. Oh God!"

Zari held her breath. Could this be? He found his mother dead in the trunk of her car? Wouldn't he have told her that story already? How can you not remember such a traumatic experience? And how did this explain his phobia of thunder and lightning?

"How old are you, Mort?" she asked.

"Twelve. I'm twelve, my mother is burning," he sobbed.

Suddenly, Zari heard Merrill behind her. He had come looking for them.

"What the hell are you doing?" he shouted.

She turned around and urged him not to startle Mort, that he was under hypnosis and couldn't just be yanked out of it.

Merrill raged on but kept his voice down. "Is this witchcraft?!" he hissed.

"It's not witchcraft; nothing like that. You have to trust me right now, Merrill. Your brother asked me to do this with him. He wants to know where his fear of thunderstorms comes from. Please, let me finish this so he can come out of hypnosis unharmed," Zari pleaded.

Merrill watched dumbfounded as his brother writhed in agony while he relieved the horror of finding his mother dead.

"Okay, that's enough. Bring him out of it! He's forgotten all of this and now you're bringing it back!" Merrill yelled, white as a ghost and shaking like an aspen leaf.

Zari placed her hand on Mort's chest and gently, then urgently called out his name, trying to get his attention and start the countdown, when suddenly he yelled out, "London is burning!"

Ch 19

Merrill and Zari stared at him. What was going on?

Mort kept yelling, "London is burning! London is burning! Get the children out!" in the middle of a panic attack, frantically jerking his arms and legs as if trying to get away from something.

Zari glanced at Merrill, but he shook his head no. His brother had never been to London. They watched helplessly as he struggled to escape when his hands flew to his throat and his breathing became rattled.

"Mort, what is happening? What do you see?" Zari urged.

"London; the fire. Everything is burning; fire everywhere. All dead. Can't get away," he gasped.

"What year is it, Mort? When is the fire?"

"Sixteen."

"Sixteen?"

"Sixteen sixty-six."

"Sixteen hundred sixty-six, Mort? Is that the year?"

He nodded, still clutching his throat.

Merrill staggered back in alarm. "The London Fire," he said. "Wasn't the Great Fire in 1666?"

"Are you in London in 1666? What is your name?" Zari demanded.

Mort moved his head frantically. "I am Will. My family, they can't get out." He groaned in horror.

"Are you getting out? What are you doing?"

"Running. Everything is blocked. The fire. My family, they're inside. Can't get out."

Zari's heart was racing. "Run, Will. Keep running. You can make it out. What do you see?"

"My neighbor, Sarah. She's my friend. We're running. There is an alley that's safe. We escape." Mort was panting, calming down but crying. Then his anxiety picked up again. "The storm. It's above us. Lightning, more fire. London is burning!"

Merrill, searching frantically on his phone, stumbled forward and exclaimed, "Here, the Great Fire of London. September 2nd until September 5th, 1666. But wait...it says it started in a bakery in Pudding Lane. There's no mention of lightning."

"Just because it's not mentioned doesn't mean there wasn't a storm during the fire. It sounds as if he was right there," Zari whispered, gesturing at Mort.

"Ask him how old he is and the names of his parents and siblings," Merrill whispered.

"Will, how old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"What are your parents' names?"

"Paul. Paul Llewellyn. And Mary. My parents."

"What are your siblings' names?" Zari pressed on, taking notes on a piece of paper Merrill had handed her.

"Mary, John. And little Betsy. My neighbors. They can't get out. Sarah, my friend. She is with me. We're running. Can't breathe." Again, Mort grabbed his throat and made wheezing sounds. It sounded as if he was choking.

Merrill looked worried and tried to intervene, but Zari held up her hand and stopped him. "He's not in danger, Merrill. Let him finish. It needs to come out and be dealt with."

"But how do you know this is not a real asthma attack?" he asked frantically.

She didn't know. "Just get his inhaler ready. This is what we've been waiting for. Let him go through this. It's his chance of getting a grip on his fears." She turned to Merrill. "And now we know where his asthma might come from. The smoke inhalation in a previous life. I know it sounds crazy, but there have been studies that prove you can carry over an illness or pain from a stabbing, let's say, into a next life. I think this is exactly what's happening here."

Mort still relived the agony of losing his family and escaping a devastating fire that he thought was caused by lightning. He must not have known the bakery on Pudding Lane caught fire.

"Is Sarah with you? Where are you two going?"

Mort jerked uneasily on the bench. His mouth moved while he gathered his thoughts and put them into words. Then he continued. "We're leaving the city. We have nobody left. All died. Nothing left. We get married."

"You and Sarah got married?" Zari asked.

He nodded. "Married."

Zari wanted to know more. "What does Sarah look like?"

"Beautiful. Curly hair. Green eyes. Big girl. Beautiful."

"She's big? Like, overweight?"

"Big. Strong. She's a good woman."

"Do you have children?"

"Four. Two die. Two live. Peter and Betsy."

Zari looked up at Merrill. "What do you think? Enough for one night?"

He nodded, but right before Zari led Mort out of hypnosis, she thought of something. "Will, listen to me good now. The fire you were in was not caused by lightning. It started in a bakery on Pudding Lane, and it had nothing to do with the thunderstorm. There was a fire in the bakery. Do you understand?"

Mort hesitated, then nodded; slightly at first, then vigorously. "In the bakery. Not the storm. The storm helped with the rain, but it was not enough. London is burning, but the storm didn't start it."

"That's right, Will. The rain tried to extinguish the fire, but it didn't rain long enough. You're right. The storm did not do it. Thunder and lightning are just loud and scary, but you're safe inside buildings. It cannot get to you. And it did not kill your family, okay? The bakery fire did it."

Mort relaxed visibly and nodded. "Sarah and I are safe. The storm did not hurt us."

Looking at Merrill, Zari asked, "Can you think of anything else, or can we bring him back?"

He mulled it over, spellbound by what they've just witnessed. "Is there anything we can ask him about... about our mother? I was never quite sure what happened. I was gone for a while. I know she... she took her own life and he found her, but he refuses to talk about it."

She shrugged, unsure of what to do. "He's in a previous life right now. I don't think we should flip-flop back and forth. I'll tell you what he said about her death before you came in the room, okay? But I have to warn you. It's horrible. Absolutely horrible. I'm really sorry."

Merrill nodded. "Okay, bring him back then. Maybe I don't want to know."

Zari placed a hand on Merrill's shoulder and squeezed it in commiseration. "Whatever you say, Merrill. You decide when you're ready." Turning to Mort, she said, "Okay, Will. Mort. It's time to come back. Start counting backward from ten to one and leave the room you're in, then go back up the stairs until you see us, okay? Ready? Ten, nine, eight..."

Mort counted obediently and when he reached one, his eyes opened and he looked around, surprised to see Zari and his brother hovering over him.

"What happened?"

"What do you remember?" Zari asked.

He cowered against the wall, still pretty out of it, but then his expression changed as if he remembered something. He looked around. "Where are we?"

"We're in your bar, Mort. In Brooklyn, America. Do you remember anything you just did or saw?"

He took his time to answer, as if debating how much to disclose. "There's no way. You wouldn't believe it. Let's just forget about it," he said and was about to get up when Zari said, "Do you remember Will? And the big London Fire in the sixteen hundreds?"

He sat back down, dazed. "What did I say?"

Zari read from the notes. "Your parents, Paul and Mary Llewellyn. Your siblings, Mary, John and Betsy. A neighbor named Sarah, who became your wife. Your children, Peter and Betsy. You lost your families in the fire, which started in a bakery on Pudding Lane, not because of a thunderstorm, as you believed. You and Sarah escaped. Is this what you remember?"

Mort gaped at them as if they were ghosts. "I said all that?" He turned white. "I do remember. But how can this be? This happened hundreds of years ago?!"

Zari reached for his hand. "It's how past life regression works. You can regress to any time or previous life, depending on what door you choose to step through. The doctor said we all lived many lives. He even led some patients into their own future, but it was too scary for some to find out what lies ahead, so he only does it with a few select people. But isn't it amazing what you can find out?"

Merrill had retreated to a corner of the room, sitting at a table with his head buried in his hands. His shoulders quivered.

When Mort saw it, he got up and walked over to his brother, who was clearly shaken up, and wrapped his arms around him from behind. He bent down and inquired what was wrong. Merrill was too upset to answer, and soon his weeping turned into convulsive crying. Now it was Mort's turn to comfort his brother.

Zari choked up as she watched these tough men, whose troubled pasts rendered them so vulnerable. The scene was raw. It felt as if she was looking through a window into a forbidden domain, and she turned away and left the men to tend to their distress. They needed to come to grips with the demons from their past without an outsider's interference.

Despite being a good distance away, she could clearly hear their words echoing through the place because of where they were sitting in regard to the room's acoustics.

Merrill was finally able to speak. "Ya said something about how the old lady died. It sounded terrible. I always wanted ta protect ya from such horror, but I just wasn't around enough. I'm really sorry for that. About being such a bad older brother. I was an asshole."

"Merl, shut up! You're the only reason I survived this hell they put us through!" Mort said with urgency. "There was nothing we could have done for her. None of us. You know she tried before and was pissed when she got saved. The second time she made sure nobody could stop her. Ma had her own demons, but she refused to get help. It was nobody's fault."

Zari knew Merrill had missed the part where Mort talked about the way he found their mother and was now itching to find out, so he pretended to know until he drew it out of him.

"So, what did you do when you found her? I mean, how did you react?" he asked.

Mort, who thought Merrill had heard what happened, looked up in surprise. "Well, I tried to get her out, but the car was already burnt up by the time I got there. I didn't even know she was in there 'cause I couldn't see her through the windows, but then I found a piece of her dress sticking out of the trunk." He let out a strangled cry. "I was twelve years old, Merl. The old man told me to look for her 'cause his supper was late, and I couldn't find her anywhere. We thought she ran off and left us 'cause her car was gone, but the next day I rode my bike to the place we always hid when Pa threatened to kill us... and there was her car. She locked herself in the trunk before she set herself on fire." He pressed his hand over his eyes and wept quietly.

Merrill threw back his head, keening like a wounded animal. "Oh, sweet Lord Jesus, what do we have to endure? Why couldn't I have found her? He was just a kid."

Zari sat in a chair, unable to move. She didn't want to yank the men out of their misery, which was so necessary for healing, by reminding them she was still in the room. So much pain and grief in this world, she thought, and we add more innocent children into it. How could people be so egoistic? But no, she couldn't allow herself to think like that. Without children, all hope for hope itself was lost.

Ch 20

The early morning light entered the barroom, and soon Jonathan and Amelia would wake up. It was Friday and Merrill called out of work. He needed to figure out his new life starting now. They heard him shouting into the phone, "I've become a daddy last night to a little girl! I'll tell you everything next week." He sounded proud and excited.

Mort decided to let Jonathan stay home from school and left a message for Ms. Jingle. They needed to sit down together and discuss the new dynamics an additional child brought into their lives, Zari's included. Not that she would be their nanny of any sorts. Mort would never allow that, but to lend counsel when the two tough guys were at a loss of dealing with the pair of pint-sized dictators.

But first things first, she decided. What was needed more than anything else right now was a hearty breakfast, and Zari ran across the street for bagels, eggs, milk, coffee, and most important, chocolate.

She found a checkered tablecloth, which she spread across one of the round bar tables to make it look more festive, and laid out what she bought. She dipped a piece of chocolate into her coffee and blissfully closed her eyes. Coffee and chocolate, the way she started off most mornings, while she sent a heartfelt prayer heavenward. In her late teens, she developed the habit of talking to God in a no-nonsense way, not whimpering and begging, but confident and bold, like a child of the King. Only after that did she feel ready to step out into the day.

Mort watched her from across the room. "Did you just pray?"

"Yup. It's how I start every day."

He shrugged but didn't inquire further. Jonathan called from the room, and soon they heard two pairs of footsteps charging toward the door.

"Dad! Who is that girl in my bed?"

Mort stifled a laugh. It sounded funny coming from the mouth of a child. "Don't you remember last night? Her mommy dropped her off. She's your cousin. Her name is Amelia. Be nice to her, she'll be staying with Uncle Merrill for a while, okay? He's her daddy."

Jonathan didn't sound too surprised. "I didn't know he was a daddy."

"Neither did he. But now he is. So that's how it's going to be. Life can change in a second."

The boy shrugged. "Is she staying in the back room with us?"

"No, only for tonight and maybe tomorrow. She'll go home with Uncle Merrill soon. He's taking care of her."

Merrill, who stepped out of the bathroom in time to hear the conversation, added, "I have to find daycare for her. And probably do some shopping."

He looked helplessly at Zari, who nodded and told him not to worry about the shopping. The 'Unhappy Wives' were expected to be here tonight. They would probably beg him to let them dress up the little girl, especially such a cute one as her.

By nightfall, they had daycare figured out, and the 'Wives', who couldn't believe another child appeared in the men's lives, promised to take Amelia into the city the next morning and do what girls do best. Merrill was touched, Mort seemed embarrassed. He never had to rely on goodwill and help as much as he did recently and it bothered him. His brother, on the other hand, was shameless. Mort was sure he'd be fine. He would have lots of help taking care of his daughter.

He turned around just in time to witness the moment, which became the turning point for his older brother. Amelia had toddled up to Merrill, reached for his hand, and said with the cutest, clear as a bell voice, "Daddy."

Merrill looked tenderly at his little girl, picked her up and held her close, overcome with emotion. "I swear to you. Daddy will never, ever let anything happen to you, doll face. You are my little princess girl, you hear?"

After her shift, Zari decided to stay another night with the motley crew she had grown so fond of. She went home during the afternoon to feed Roberta and when she returned, Walter was in the middle of telling the children war stories from his time in the service. Zari hadn't been aware he was a Vietnam vet, but the brothers must have known, or at least they didn't seem surprised.

Thankfully, that night went much smoother than the night before, and they actually got some sleep. The next morning, right after breakfast, the 'Unhappy Wives' waltzed in and took Amelia hostage, not returning her until late afternoon and decked out in Park Avenue's finest.

The ladies spread out portrait photographs on a table. Merrill teared up. Amelia was dressed like a fairy princess in a storybook. One of the pictures was a group shot in which she was surrounded by the ladies, smiling proudly as if they personally were responsible for her existence.

One evening, about a week after Rowena left Amelia and fled, a man entered the bar and removed his cap, twisting it in his hands.

"Ahem," he said, looking around. "About that little girl that got dropped off here last week." He touched his head. "The one with the red hair. Is she... I mean, it's none of my business, but is she okay?"

Mort almost jumped over the counter. "Who are you?" he asked sharply. "What do you want?"

The man looked frightened. "The woman who brought her, the one she was with, she... I dropped her off at this address." He held out a business card with a taxi logo over which an address was written in pencil. "I had a funny feeling when she came back without the kid and told me to hurry, and I saw a man run after us in the rearview mirror and she kept yelling for me to drive faster. I dropped her off where she told me to and watched her go inside this building." He pointed to the street name and number. "I mean, I'm not sure if she lives there, but the whole thing kept bothering me and I figured, let me just drop off this information."

"You the cab driver she drove off with?" Mort asked, much friendlier now.

"Yes. I don't know her, of course. I just had a feeling. Excuse me, if you don't mind me asking. The little girl is taken care off?"

"Yes. Yes, she is. She's my niece. My brother has her." Mort held up the card. "This might come in handy one day, and I thank you for dropping it off. Can I offer you anything?"

"Oh, no. Thank you very much. I have to go. I'm working. I'm a father myself, and I felt I had to make sure everything was okay."

Mort stepped behind the bar and opened the cash register, pulling out a few bills. "Here," he said, handing them to the driver. "For your troubles. Come in any time you want. It's on the house."

Merrill drove past the apartment building every day until he saw Rowena walk up the street. He followed discreetly and watched her push a doorbell, then wait to get buzzed in. Once she was inside, he approached and wrote down the apartment number. He wasn't sure if she lived there or just visited, or why she didn't have a key, but this bit of information would have to do. Just in case he ever needed to find her.

Things settled as they always do when you don't have a choice, and everything fell into place over the next few weeks. Mort and Jonathan slept in the back room during the week, and sometimes Merrill and Amelia joined them.

It hadn't rained since Mort's regression, so they didn't know if he lost his fear of storms. They had a few blizzards, but nothing that stopped New Yorkers in their tracks for more than a day. Mort's acting class was scheduled to begin soon and he was having second thoughts.

"What if I suck? It's just a stupid dream. It doesn't mean anything," he tried to tell himself and Zari.

When Merrill found out about the class his brother was signed up for, he laughed, then grew somber. "Hey, why not? You never know until you know."

"You never know until you try," Zari corrected. "I mean, look at you. Ever since you became a daddy, you haven't been the same person. No more bimbos, no more late nights out drinking, no more running off for days to God knows where. You didn't know this about yourself until you were plopped in the middle of fatherhood. What if Mort finds his calling?"

"Yeah, what if? What about the bar, then?" Mort grumbled. "It took me two years to make a go of it. I'm not giving that up for some stupid acting gig."

Zari put her hands on her hips. "All right, enough with this nonsense. You're going and find out if you like it, then you make your decision. It may be your only chance. At least, give it a shot."

Merrill grinned amusedly as his brother got bossed around. Sometimes, he thought, you just needed a kick in the ass by somebody who gave a shit.

Ch 21

"How did it go?" Zari asked cheerfully when she arrived at work. Today was Mort's first acting class, and she had felt jittery ever since she woke up. What if he didn't go?

He avoided her eyes. "T'was okay. We didn't do much yet."

She breathed a sigh of relief. At least he went to class. "How many were signed up?"

"'Bout twenty. More girls than guys and the professor is an old, long-haired crazy guy. I hope he knows what he's doing."

"Old and long-haired means experienced and artistic, so it sounds like you're in good hands. Did you learn anything?"

"Yep, that I don't know shit. It feels weird putting on an act."

"At least finish the one semester. It'll give you an idea what it's like. Promise?"

"Hm. Why is that so important to you?"

She was smart enough to sound neutral instead of feeling sorry for him, or saying because she cared and wanted him to be happy. He was a difficult man and needed convincing in a different way, or else his guard would go up and stay up.

"Because you're trying to live your dream while I plan and save for mine makes us accomplices and we can encourage each other." Zari looked at him with big innocent eyes.

It must have been the right answer because Mort's face lit up. "All right then. How much have you saved up so far, or when do you figure you go swimming with the sharks?"

She looked discouraged. "I'm not even halfway there. It's hard with rent and all. But I'll keep trying."

"Maybe you should pray about that, too. Or is it bad to ask Jesus for money?"

"No, I don't think so. I can try."

Mort looked doubtful. He cleared his throat before coming out with it. "You mean, um, you don't have to be a saint to ask for favors? You know, with what we've been doing and stuff." He turned crimson.

"Saints and Sinners; the ancient dilemma, I know. I ask for forgiveness every day. So far things turned out okay." She smiled. "Nobody is perfect."

Suddenly, a thunderclap boomed in the distance. Zari and Mort stared at each other. It didn't rain, but the storm came closer and a few lightning bolts lit up the sky. People were rushing along the street, several ducking into the bar. As soon as they were served, Zari checked on her boss. He leaned against the wall, pale and shaky, but not as spooked as usual.

"How do you feel, boss?" Zari asked.

Mort produced a weak smile. "So far, so good." He breathed faster than normal but did not hyperventilate.

"Remember, you're safe inside the building. The fire was not caused by lightning. It started in the bakery and had nothing to do with the storm. You okay?"

He nodded, concentrating on his breathing. Jonathan was playing in the back room, watching a cartoon. Mort closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then another. He counted to three and looked around. Nobody seemed worried. The storm was above them, rain fell for a short time, then stopped, and the storm moved on. He did not have a meltdown and looked relieved.

"You think it worked? I'm over it?" he asked, stunned.

"You tell me. Your symptoms have definitely improved. What is left is the residue of your phobia because you're so used to freaking out that you automatically acted as if you still were. But your gut should have let you know everything was okay, right? No panic attack."

He gathered his thoughts. "Yeah, I think you're right. I was nervous from habit. I have to get used to storms not bothering me anymore." He grinned. "It feels really weird after all these years."

The place filled up and they were busy until closing time. Mort saw to it that his son brushed his teeth and changed into pajamas, then Zari told him a quick bedtime story and turned off the light. It wasn't a ritual set in stone. Whoever had time to get him ready for bed, did. One day, Mort and Zari knew, she would be gone, and Jonathan would miss her more if she was the one who always tucked him in. The brothers or one of the 'Wives' took turns telling stories. Walter talked about his lovely wife or his brave friends he went through the war with. Merrill told hunting stories from their youths, and Mort recounted adventures from childhood but left out all the bad parts, and the 'Wives' read articles from one of the magazines that were lying around. Only Zari told normal, child appropriate fairy tales and read nursery rhymes from library books.

She shook her head. "Figures that the pole dancing and shark diving barmaid is the _normal_ one in the joint."

Later, as they closed up, Zari walked by Mort and said in passing, "You know, it did rain..."

He stopped polishing the counter and looked mock surprised. "Did it now?"

"Mhm. Briefly, but nonetheless."

He looked over his shoulder. "I can't leave my son here by himself, so the hotel is out."

"And I'm not shameless enough to do it in the same room where a child is sleeping."

"Well, that narrows it down, then. The 'Fight Club'?"

"No women allowed, remember?"

"During a fight only, remember?"

She peeked into the room, twitching her nose. "Eeew, sweat and something else. Farts?"

There was no furniture. A bare bulb hung from the ceiling and the room looked anything but inviting.

"Sorry, that won't put me in the mood," she announced and closed the door.

"How about this?" Mort asked and pulled out the upholstered bench they used in the regression a few weeks ago from under the long table. "Maybe we could do something with that."

Zari moved it away from the wall and straddled it at one end, lowering herself slowly with her back turned to Mort. She stuck out her butt and slightly lifted her short black skirt, flashing her bare cheeks, while she rocked slightly up and down. She could hear him gasp.

"No underwear again? Damn, girl. How come I never notice?"

"I just took them off a minute ago. Now, what are you gonna do?"

He ran to the door and locked it, then returned, loosening his belt and unzipping his jeans. He sat behind her and grabbed her breasts, nuzzling his mouth along her neck. Zari sat in front of him and slightly raised her hips off the seat. Mort moved his hand under her ass, massaging her clit while his other hand worked itself inside her blouse. She moaned and leaned her head back against him, then gasped when he stuck his middle finger swiftly into her pussy and went straight for the domed area of her G spot which he rubbed back and forth, not too fast, and applying just the right amount of pressure.

How did he even know it existed and how to work it? This reserved man who held back his emotions and didn't let anyone near him was full of surprises.

Suddenly, she felt what must be a hangnail scratching along her pussy wall, which enhanced the pleasure so dramatically, it nearly drove her mad. She didn't only moan, she grunted like an animal, loud and fierce, while sitting on his fist with his finger stuck inside her, working it a hundred miles an hour.

Before she reached her climax, he pulled it out and moved his hand to her front, where he commenced massaging her clit as he lined up the tip of his penis directly under her raised ass. He entered her with one smooth stroke, and she pressed herself into his chest and loins in a perfect fit, raising her hands up and behind her, holding onto him.

Mort bent Zari over and stretched her hands out in front of her. He quickly mounted her from behind, slamming into her until they gasped their way into powerful orgasms they wished would never end. They collapsed in a heap on top of each other, letting their breathing slow naturally.

"Dad?!" Jonathan peered over the counter, proud of himself for having found his father in the dark. "What are you doing to Zari?"

Mort shot up as if stung by a bee, pulling down his shirt and zipping up his pants. Zari stayed put on the bench, skirt now covering her butt, pretending to put her hair into a ponytail.

"We, oh, uh, nothing. Just moving some furniture around. You know, to see if it looks better over there..."

"Are you and Zari doing it?" he asked innocently and full of excitement.

Zari gulped and clasped her hand over her mouth to stifle a snort.

"What?! No, no of course not. You don't even know what that means! She was just picking something up from the floor, and I helped her get it. That's why I was, you know, on top of her. God, that didn't sound right." He looked desperately at Zari for help.

"At least we were dressed," she whispered and said, "Jonathan, what do you mean by doing it? What we were doing was moving furniture and picking up something that fell behind the bench."

"Oh, okay. Uncle Merrill said you and Zari are probably doing it, but he didn't say doing what."

"Ugh, Merrill. Damnit. How does he even know? He said that to you?"

"No, I heard him say it to Mister Walter."

"To Walter? And what did he say?"

"I don't know. He said if you're smart."

Zari burst into fits of laughter until her sides hurt. Mort looked at her reproachfully. "That's _not_ funny! Now we have my brother, an old man, and my kid talking about our sex life," he hissed. He grabbed Jonathan and carried him back to bed.

"I'll see you tomorrow! Night, Jonathan!" Zari shouted into the room and left, still laughing as she walked out the door. They hadn't been naked, it was dark, and he probably didn't see them until they were done, so she didn't feel too bad about Jonathan walking in on them.

Merrill stopped by with Amelia the next evening, and they ordered pizza which they ate in the back room between taking care of customers.

"Hey, is that pizza I smell?" one of the guys yelled. "You know, it would be nice to get something to eat in this joint. It doesn't have to be fancy or anything, just something to settle the stomach between brewskies."

"Well, you're the boss," Zari said, looking at Mort between bites. "My offer still stands."

Mort shrugged and looked at his brother. "What do you think? We could make these Porky Pies mum always served at the pub..." as soon as he finished the sentence, he dropped his pizza and sat with his mouth hanging open. Where did this come from? Mum? Pub? They never had a pub.

"Are ya remembering yer other life again, Mort? Did y'all run a pub over there?" Merrill asked.

"I... I don't know. Did we?" He looked at Zari who shook her head. "You didn't say anything about no pub."

"Did I dream it? I'm so confused. I clearly remember these pie things. Mum called them Porky Pies. The pub crowd loved them. Let me think." Mort grabbed a piece of paper and jotted down ingredients as he remembered them. "Pie crust... she used flour, egg yolk, ice water, salt... I used to watch her, and then she mixed pork sausage and sage, an onion, broth, and I think gelatin... oh and a chopped apple. And she stirred it all up and filled these little pie shells with it. She always said never leave out the gelatin. It makes a big difference. This is crazy, man."

Zari looked at the list and said she could definitely work with that. She could even imagine what it would taste like; savory and rich, the perfect comfort food. "I'll whip up a batch this week. Wouldn't it be cool if they taste like your mother used to make?"

"I don't know. This is freaking me out," Mort said, lighting a cigarette.

The room fell quiet. The only sound was chewing and cars honking outside. Tolstoi slept under the table where he was thrown the odd crust. He sighed contently, licking his chops.

"Uncle Merrill, daddy and Zari were doing it last night," Jonathan piped up.

Merrill sprayed a mouthful of beer across the table and jumped out of his seat. Mort had a coughing fit, and Zari finally turned red, busying herself with wiping the table.

"We did no such thing!" Mort shouted once he caught his breath. "I don't know what he is talking about, but he said you and Walter mentioned something about doing, uh, moving furniture. That's what we did last night." He looked at his brother sharply.

"Mister Walter said if daddy is smart, he would. Is moving furniture smart?"

"Hell yeah, it is," Mort answered. "It is very smart to move things around so you don't always look at the same old, same old. Now stop talking about it. It's no big deal."

"Oh, I think it's a _very_ big deal," Merrill said, grinning from ear to ear. He couldn't wait to watch his brother wiggle out of that one. "So ya finally did the smart thing, eh? Well, I'm sure glad ta hear it. And what happened when Jonathan walked in on the furniture rearranging?" Merrill lit a cigarette of his own and leaned back in delight.

"I had to go to the bathroom, and daddy was still working, so I didn't wanna bother him and just went by myself. I didn't even have to turn on the lights," he said proudly.

"Well, that's a very good thing that you left them off because it sure saves daddy a lot of electricity money," Merrill said gleefully.

"Yeah, but they made a lot of noise. Must have been heavy furniture."

Merrill laughed so hard he slapped his knees, not able to contain himself any longer. "Oh, I bet it was _very_ heavy. Did ya see what kinda furniture it was?"

"All right, that's enough now!" Mort was sweating, his eyes boring into his brother's.

"The bench right over there," Jonathan said and pointed into the bar room. "Hey, dad. It's still at the same place. You didn't move it!"

Mort covered his face with both hands, he was so embarrassed. Merrill stared across the room.

"I'll never look at that bench the same way," he announced. "Well, lil brother. I'm sure glad ya have a good woman ta help ya with all that furniture. I was getting worried how ya managed on yer own."

The discussion would have probably gone on forever if it weren't for the two police officers who walked in. They scanned the room, then approached the men sitting at the bar.

Mort rushed into the bar and closed the door behind him.

Ch 22

"Officer Funk. My partner, Rodriguez. You the owner?"

"Mort Boanerges." He shook their hands. "Yes, I am. Can I help you?"

"We're looking for a Merrill Boanerges."

"That's my brother. Somethin' wrong?"

"Would you happen to know where he is? We just want to talk to him for a moment. He's not in any trouble. Least, not that we know of. Just a routine follow up on a complaint which solved itself."

Mort hesitated, then asked the officers to wait. He disappeared into the back room and returned with Merrill, who looked surprised to see them.

"Merrill Jay Boanerges?"

"That's me. Officers?"

"Just following up on a harassment complaint." Officer Funk opened a notepad and read. "On January 15, an Eva Petrovic came to the station to file a harassment suit, stating she got assaulted and..." he squinted at the notepad. "Let's see if I got that right. Uh, stuffed head first into a garbage can?" He looked up. "Sound familiar?"

"Ehm, somewhat. She say anything else?" Merrill asked guardedly.

"Well, from what we know, she seemed intoxicated so they brought her into a holding area where they found drugs and drug paraphernalia on her. When they checked her records and found out she was a non-citizen in possession of illegal drugs, she was deported back to her country the next day. We just want to follow up with your side of the story so we can dismiss the charges and close the file."

Mort gasped. "That's what happened to her?! She's gone?"

"Left the country," Officer Funk said.

"Hell, left the continent," the other officer added.

"Dayum, that's the best news I heard in my whole life!"

"Pardon us, sir?"

Merrill had a devilish grin spreading across his face while Mort dissolved in laughter, bending over and bracing himself on his knees. "The bitch is gone, the fuckin' bitch is gone. Deported. This is great!"

"That's his ex-wife. She kept ridin' his ass for more money. He had ta sell his bike, which meant more ta him than his own life. One of the reasons she ended up in the trash," Merrill explained. He waved a hand. "Yeah, you can dismiss the charges. I have nothing ta add."

The officers looked empathetic. "Glad to be the bearer of good news then." Turning to Mort, Officer Rodriguez said, "It also means you don't have to pay her alimony anymore. She's not allowed back in the country. I suggest you come down to the station and pick up the report in case you need it in the future; especially if children are involved. Have a wonderful evening, gentlemen."

Mort nearly bowed and curtsied with gratitude. Even though she was his kid's mother, he hoped to never hear from that bitch again. "This calls for a celebration," he announced. "Free drinks for everybody, and we're ordering more pizza!"

His customers cheered, slapping him on the back and congratulating him exuberantly. When Walter arrived and heard what happened, he wiped away tears and sent a small salute heavenward, which only Zari seemed to notice. Maybe he had prayed for Mort and his young son as well.

Mort turned to his brother and whispered, "And the "furniture moving" we talked about before; there's nothing to tell, so don't ask."

It was obvious Merrill didn't believe a word he said.

Ch 23

Mort's mood lightened visibly after he heard about Eva's deportation, and Zari and Merrill often caught him smiling to himself. He had finally gotten a break. To add to the good news, Merrill drove up with Mort's motorcycle the next night and handed him the keys, telling his stunned brother he hunted down the buyer and bought it back. It was the least he could do for him after all the years of abuse he put him through when they were kids.

Mort stopped complaining about going to class and told vignettes from school and the instructor, who happened to be a big shot in the film industry in his younger years. Mort spoke of him with respect and admiration now and seemed to trust him. He even practiced his lines whenever there was some downtime at work.

"Does he think you're any good? I mean, does he comment on your acting at all?" Zari asked.

"Yeah, he complains I'm a thick-headed rogue who's too stubborn to follow his instructions, but I just do what I feel in my gut is right and how I think it should come across. He calls me RB, for Rebel Badass." He sounded bashful but a little proud as well.

"Aw, what d'you know, lil brother already knows everything better," Merrill observed from his perch in the back. "It's the chick tellin' the hen how it's done."

"And what if he does? Maybe he's a natural," Zari defended her boss who was visibly touched by her support. She had noticed his raw talent when he practiced his lines even though he was embarrassed in the beginning, but once he got going, his instinct took over.

There was definitely something there under the surface, Zari thought. She was glad he was taking a step toward achieving his dream and if acting was his calling, there would be no stopping it anyway. It would break out sooner or later, just like dancing did for her.

"What are we going to do about _your_ dream, huh?" he asked softly.

She looked discouraged. "I'll have to make more money somehow, or I'll be dead and buried by the time I've saved up enough. Oh, I almost forgot. I made a batch of them pork pies. Let me get 'em. They're in the fridge." Zari carefully set them on the counter and held one up to Mort. "Do they look like in your, uh, dream?"

He inspected it top, side and bottom, and smelled it. "Close enough. Damn, it actually brings back memories. Shit weirds me out. Let's try it."

He transferred one of the pies onto a paper plate and stuck it in the microwave. It took a few minutes to warm up evenly and cool down enough to eat. Mort took a bite and before he even swallowed, his eyes flashed in recognition.

"Holy shit, just like mum's. Don't tell anyone which mom. They'd call the nuthouse on me. Here." He grabbed a fork and cut a piece for Zari and his brother, then divided the rest among the customers, handing out sheets of paper towel to go with it.

"Let me know what y'all think; if this should be offered on a regular basis. And don't get your hopes up, everybody. This will be the only dish on the menu."

"The perfect signature dish if you want my opinion," said one of the guys and gave it a thumb's up. "It's a go. Can I have a whole one? I'll pay up to nine dollars for it, plus a dollar tip."

Zari sprang to her feet. "I only baked five today because I didn't expect a sale. But hey, you're our first paying Porky Pie customer. Let me take your picture."

And that is how they served 'Mary's Porky Pies' from that day on; microwaved on a paper plate, accompanied by a fork and one sheet of two-ply paper towel for a napkin, with a bowl of water on the side to dip your fingers in. Just as it was done at his parent's pub in England four hundred and fifty years ago.

Mort refused to take any money off of Zari for the pies. He insisted she put it into her 'Dream Fund', and she gratefully obliged. When the 'Wives' found out what their mascot was saving for, they held a meeting; first without, then with her.

"Do us a fuckin' favor and come here a minute, Zari, will ya? We have a few ideas!" Angie shouted from their table.

Zari hurried to join them, eager to hear their plan.

"Your boss told us about the number one item on your bucket list. Now you want to do this before life gets its claws in you and ties you down. You have our full support because, as you know, most of us regret having married right out of school without taking the time to think about what we wanted to do with our lives. Now, don't get us wrong. We don't regret having our families. We just wished we would have waited and done something crazy before we settled down. So here is what we're thinking to help out our mascot. We could fund you, but then it would feel like we're living through you, and you wouldn't own the experience. It's more satisfying to earn your own fare. So, we want to keep a running order of these great pies you've been making to take home for dinner one night a week. Now that would be a pie for each family member, and most of us have five people in the family, so you would have to bake like a meschuggena for a while." Angie waited for Zari's reaction.

Zari couldn't believe their offer and nearly burst into tears until she remembered she didn't cry in public and choked them back just in time. She hugged Angie and the other ladies and thanked them profusely for their offer. It would make a big difference in her savings account.

Mort was told to procure a large freezer so she could bake whenever she had extra time and store the pies on the premises. He rolled his eyes at them, complaining he had a feeling this would happen but promised to ask around for one.

When Zari caught her boss during a quiet moment, she said, "See how prayer works? I said, Jesus, that's the little bit I have saved up. Please bless it and multiply it, just like you did with the loaves and fishes. And now look."

"That's just coincidence. I mean, I told the ladies about your trip to the South Pacific, and they offered you ideas to make extra money. I don't see God's hand in this."

"Well, that's how Jesus works, dumbass. Or did you expect He'd throw a bag of money down from heaven?"

Merrill checked on Amelia, who was napping in the back room, and Jonathan, who had finished his homework and was watching TV, and told Mort he'd be back in a bit. Mort gave him a knowing look and nodded. He knew his brother needed to find Rowena and talk to her about their daughter, so she wouldn't show up out of nowhere again and take her away. Amelia already meant everything to him, and he needed to know where they all stood. Merrill came back an hour later and shook his head. "Nobody answered the door," he said and poured himself a beer. "I'll try again tomorrow."

But he did not find her the next day, nor the day after that, but on Tuesday he saw Rowena enter the building just as he drove past. He parked and waited for her. Half an hour later, the door opened and he stood face to face with the child's mother, who looked even worse than last time. She appeared shocked when she saw him.

"Where is Amelia?" she asked immediately, looking around for her.

"With my brother, who probably takes better care of her than you did."

Rowena flinched but didn't argue. "What do you want from me, Merrill?" She sounded tired.

"That's a great question coming from a mother who left her child with a person she hardly knows. And I think it warrants a little more effort than a brief discussion on a stoop ta decide a child's future. Let's have coffee and sit down if it's not too inconvenient." He sounded sarcastic but also slightly concerned.

Rowena shrugged but agreed. "There's a place not far from here," she said and pointed down the street. "We can talk there."

Ch 24

They chose a booth in the corner, and Merrill ordered coffee while Rowena asked for herbal tea. Merrill looked surprised but didn't comment. There were more important things to discuss than someone's choice of beverage.

He got straight to the point. "What I need ta know is yer plan for our daughter. Do I have ta worry about you running in one day and taking her back, or is this a long term deal?"

Rowena stirred her tea and seemed to wrestle with herself before she answered. "I didn't have a choice, Merrill. It's not how I wanted this to turn out, believe me, but it was the only solution I could think of. You're all the family she has." She took a deep breath and swept off her woolen hat, revealing a completely bald head. "I'm going through chemotherapy for skin cancer. It's treatable, but I found out almost too late. My friend Rose, who lives in the building you saw me come out of, supplements the treatments with holistic remedies. I don't know yet if I'll make it."

Merrill was gobsmacked by what she told him. "But, but, why didn't ya tell me before? This changes everything! Please let me help."

"I spent one night with you, Merrill, in my old life. I'm not that person anymore. Amelia made me a better person, and when I had to give her up because I thought it was the best for her, it ripped my heart out." Her eyes filled with tears. "I'm a good mother, Merrill, but I might be dead in a few months. I didn't want my little girl to end up in an orphanage or foster home. My only hope was to let her grow up with you and hope you would do the right thing. She's your daughter and blood. I prayed you would rise to the responsibility. Maybe, I thought, she would make you a better man, just like she made me a better woman. She's an angel from the Lord, Merrill; a gift." She held his hand and looked at him intently. "Promise me, if I don't make it, you will do whatever it takes to raise her right and let her know that her mother loved her. You have no idea how hard this is for me."

They were both crying now and when the waitress approached to refill their cups, she stepped away discreetly.

"Rowena, I need ta know. What happens if... if ya make it, which I sincerely hope."

"Then we'll have to decide what's best for her. Joint custody probably." She wiped her face with a handkerchief and blew her nose.

Merrill offered Rowena a ride home. He dropped her off at a large apartment complex and waited until she was inside, then drove off in deep thought. They had exchanged phone numbers and agreed to meet regularly so he could be kept up to date on Rowena's progress.

When he returned to the bar, Mort saw immediately that something was wrong. He asked Zari to keep an eye on things and joined Merrill and Walter at the table in the corner, which was their unofficial meeting place. Merrill looked like hell and asked for a shot of Jack Daniels before he could even speak. Zari brought shots for all of them and stayed nearby, hoping to listen in on the conversation. The men didn't seem to mind.

"Well, I met up with Amelia's mother. You won't believe what's going on." Merrill told them about the cancer and asked Zari for another shot. They sat in stunned silence, shaking their heads and offering any help they could. "We'll have to wait and see what happens. If she doesn't make it, it's a no-brainer. If she makes it, I want to do right by the woman." Merrill threw back the whiskey and swallowed hard.

At that moment, Amelia ran out of the back room, looking for her daddy. Everyone jumped up at the same time and turned to the child, who now had become even more endearing to them. Their concern and pity for her was written all over their faces.

Merrill picked her up and held her close. "We love ya, princess. I know ya miss yer mommy, but mommy got sick and needs ta get better before ya can see her again. But we will always love ya and take good care of ya; daddy, Uncle Mort, Jonathan, Walter and Zari, okay, doll face?"

Amelia looked at him with somber eyes and nodded, seemingly wise beyond her years. They wondered how much she understood, and Merrill said, now that he knows the truth, he can be honest with her as well.

After the recent events, Mort went to the police station to pick up the report, then scheduled a court date and obtained full custody of Jonathan. It looked like the tides had turned for the brothers and things had fallen into place in a good way. He rode his bike to class and got admiring looks from the students, which made him feel good.

Zari baked pies and her piggy bank grew. But she still felt she could do more, so when she saw an ad for dancers at a bikini club, she met with the owner and applied for one night a week, the night she was off at the bar. She gave him a glimpse of what she could do on a pole, and he hired her on the spot. Her new job started Monday, which was the slow night of the week, perfect for easing into it.

Zari kept her new endeavor secret. She wanted to see how it panned out first before letting anyone know about it.

Ch 25

Zari's job as a pole dancer at the gentlemen's club got off to a good start, and she was thrilled with the 'easy' extra money she made that first Monday, except that it literally rained on her parade. When she walked out of the club at three in the morning accompanied to the nearby subway station by a bodyguard, which was a courtesy the club offered its girls, she could tell it had rained.

Before she even checked her phone, she knew Mort must have tried to get a hold of her. There were three messages from him, which she deleted without reading, then left him an apology that she couldn't make it tonight. He probably had Merrill and Amelia over at the house and was able to get away for a few hours, and heaven knew they needed a little action, but she was only one person and couldn't divide herself in half.

Something held her back from telling him about her dancing gig, and she wasn't sure if she just enjoyed having a little secret, or if she was worried Mort would be mad, even though they weren't together in that sense. She told herself it was no big deal, and she would stop as soon as she had enough money saved up. The problem was, over the next four weeks, it rained three times on Monday nights and she ran out of excuses.

Mort cornered her in the back room when she restocked the freezer with a crate full of pies she had baked. "So, that's it then?" he asked, meaning how she avoided him whenever he gave her a questioning look. "If you're with someone else, just tell me and I'll stop bothering you." He sounded pissed, but she could hear the hurt in his voice.

"Mort, there's nobody else. I swear. It just wasn't convenient the last couple times. My nights off are important to me, and I have a lot of things going on, okay?"

"Would you tell me if there was?" he asked.

She nodded. "I would. I don't play games with people."

He seemed to believe her, but when she left that night he said, "From now on I won't contact you when it rains. I'll just wait to hear from you."

Merrill met with Rowena once a week to drop off groceries and take her out to dinner to talk. One night, he was surprised to see her with a full head of hair, and she told him a friend lent her one of her wigs. It made her feel less self-conscious.

Zari let her know through Merrill that she would do her makeup any time she wanted, so she wasn't surprised when Rowena texted her that she would like to take her up on the offer. They agreed to meet at Zari's place the next morning. Rowena took off her wig before she settled in the chair, and Zari washed it with a mild shampoo and set it while she worked on her face. By the time she was done, Rowena looked like a different person.

"I know how you feel," Zari said. "My friend Angie owns a beauty salon and gave me a makeover a few months ago. You'd think I could do it myself after going to beauty school, but it's totally different when someone does it for you. Do you like it?"

"Do I like it? I don't know what to say! Merrill will walk right past me when he sees me tonight."

Zari grinned. "Are you two dating?"

Rowena blushed. "I wouldn't call it dating. Just meeting up to talk about Amelia and how my treatments are going." She hesitated, then added, "Can I ask you something?"

Zari, who was combing out the wig, paused. "Of course. Anything."

Rowena looked flustered. "I heard Mort talking to Merrill. He said he wasn't able to reach you some evenings. You know, on the nights you're off. He sounded concerned, and I think a little jealous. Are you two, I mean, are you seeing each other?" She blushed. "It's none of my business, of course. I'm just asking in case he asks me, and I don't know what you want me to tell him. Merrill said he's had a bunch of bad experiences, and he doesn't want his brother to get hurt again."

Zari was quiet for a long time, which made Rowena even more embarrassed. "Sorry, I shouldn't have asked. Like I said, it's none of my business."

"No, it's all right. Don't worry. So, Mort talks about me?"

"Merrill says he raves about you. He's never met a woman who had her shit together like you do, and wasn't the least bit shy about pursuing what she wanted."

"Really, he said that? Now I feel bad. I didn't think he cared. Rowena," Zari said and reached for her hand. "If I tell you what I do Monday nights, do you promise not to tell anyone? It's not a big secret. I just don't want him to worry. It has nothing to do with another man. Actually, it has to do with many men... Okay, so I dance at a club to make extra money for my trip. It's totally innocent. I don't strip or do anything with the guys. Just hang off a pole and pretend-drink with them."

It was clear Rowena had no idea what she was talking about. "You hang off a pole? I don't get it. And you dance in front of men?"

"Yes. I've been doing pole fitness for years, and I took a job on my night off to dance at a club. The money is good, and I don't have to do anything with the guys; just get them to drink and give me a few dollars. It's all in good fun, really."

"Huh. So nobody knows about it? Maybe it is good you told me. In case something happens and I know where to find you..."

"There's no danger, I promise. I don't lose control. When someone buys me a drink, the bartenders give them alcohol, and pour me a soda. And at the end of the night, we get escorted to our cars or subway in case someone follows us out. You see, it's safe and harmless," Zari tried to convince Rowena as well as herself.

"I believe you. You sound like you know what you're doing. What is the name of the club?"

Zari hesitated, but in the end, it sounded like a good idea to let someone know where she was. "Oasis. On 5th Street. But please, only tell him if you really have to."

Later that night, Zari knew Rowena's look was a success when Merrill stopped at his brother's bar to pick up Amelia. Mort didn't mind watching her since Merrill wasn't out bedding strangers but trying to work things out with the mother of his child.

"Hell, I'll never figure out wimmen," he said when he walked in. "They change like bloody chameleons in front of yer eyes. You should've seen Ro tonight. She looked like she did on that Halloween I took her home." Turning to Zari, Merrill said, "She told me ya helped her with the wig and paint job. That was real sweet of you. Not that she needs ta doll up fer me, mind you, but it helps her feel better about the cancer, and every little bit helps."

Zari was glad to hear she made a difference. "And I'll never figure out men. You've come a long way from calling me 'Sugar Tits' to complimenting me, Merrill. Every little bit makes a difference, so thank you."

Mort looked pleased with the way things were going, but Zari sensed an underlying current running through their conversations and she knew why, but there wasn't much she could do about it. She had to think about herself now.

Ch 26

Two Mondays later, Zari looked outside and couldn't believe her eyes. It was pouring. This proved it; her dance nights were cursed. She deliberately avoided looking at her messages even though Mort told her he would wait for her to set up a date when it rained.

Since the night was slower than usual, she decided to leave early, trying to catch the 10 PM train. Maybe Mort could come over to her place and they could make up. She whipped out her phone and got ready to text him when she noticed two messages had come in already. So much for him waiting for her.

She clicked on them and was startled to see they were from Rowena. Both said the same thing; Mort was upset and crying, and maybe she could give him a call. What the hell was going on? Now he was reduced to tears because he didn't get his dick taken care of?

Zari called Rowena to find out what he wanted before reaching out to her boss and get an earful about the unreliability of women, and that he was in no mood to continue with what they started. Rowena answered on the first ring.

"I don't know what happened, but Merrill called to ask if I knew where you were and that Mort is upset. Maybe you should call him."

Zari sighed and texted Mort, asking him to meet at her place. He didn't answer. On her second text, she apologized for waiting until now to contact him and repeated her invitation to get together tonight. Nothing.

Fine, be that way, she thought. Maybe Rowena said something about her new job even though she promised not to, but it wouldn't be the first time Zari trusted the wrong person. It wasn't her fault she was an independent woman who made her own decisions and didn't need a man's approval, much less his permission.

When she arrived home, she fed Roberta and changed into her favorite sweats, then made tea and sat on the couch, checking her phone every two minutes. She finally relented and called him, and when he answered, she said, "Listen, just because I work at another club on my night off doesn't mean I have to report every step I take. That's why I never told you; because I knew you would have an issue. Grow up. I happen to know what I'm doing."

Zari heard sniffling coming from the other end. Good grief, they were grownups for fuck's sake. "Mort, if you want to come over, just come. What is the matter with you? I'm not quitting my dance job until I have the money I need, so get over it."

"Zari, I have no idea what you're talking about, but Walter's neighbor called. They found Walter dead in the house. They think it was a heart attack."

Zari couldn't believe her ears."Walter?! He's dead? Oh, my God, that's horrible! Oh, I'm so sorry, Mort. What about poor Helen? How is she doing?"

"I don't know. They didn't say anything about her," Mort wept. "I can't believe he's gone. He was like a father to me."

"Mort, listen. Is Merrill with you? Do you want me to come over?" Zari asked with anguish.

"No, it's late. Stay where you are. Merrill's here. They're staying over. I'm not sure what time I'll be at the bar tomorrow. Can you open for me at four? I might have to help with the funeral arrangements."

"Don't worry about a thing, boss. I'll take care of everything," she promised. "And if you need to talk, you can call me anytime, okay?"

They hung up and Zari fell on the couch, crying for an hour. Walter had been a good friend to them. No, he had been more than a friend; a confidante, a father, a comforting presence any day the bar was open. He would be incredibly missed.

When Zari arrived at work the next afternoon, she was surprised to see Mort. He looked like shit and she knew he had been up all night. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot, and he hid them behind his long fringe. They hugged and she felt his strong arms holding her, but his mind was elsewhere. He stared at the seat Walter usually occupied and a fierce sob shook him. He turned away, embarrassed.

"Did you talk to Helen? Does she need help with anything?"

He shook his head. "No, the neighbors called this morning and said everything is taken care of. He must have made arrangements in advance. We just have to show up on Thursday at eleven at First Baptist. I'm closing the bar for the day out of respect for Walter."

"It's the right thing to do, Mort. How are Merrill and the kids?"

"Merrill's shocked, of course. We haven't told the kids yet. I'll have to, though, before the funeral. We want to bring them, so they know how these things go. No point in sugar coating reality."

"If you want, I can talk to them tonight; let them know what happened," Zari said softly. "You can answer any questions afterward."

When she tucked Amelia and Jonathan into their beds later, she closed the door and sat on the mattress between them, cradling them in her arms. 'Listen, kids. I have something to tell you, and it's going to be sad," she began.

"Are you leaving soon for the island?" Jonathan asked immediately.

She was surprised. "You know about that, Jonny?"

He nodded and looked at her with big eyes. "Mhm. Dad says things change all the time, and I have to get used to it, and that you have a real big dream in your heart, and that you will go away to an island called Fiji in the South Pacific, and maybe never come back, so we just have to accept it."

"He told you that, really? That's a bit heavy for a five-year-old, isn't it?"

"No. Life is tough and I have to learn to deal with it."

"Wow. Your daddy really isn't sugar coating you, huh, sweetie. Well, I promise to write to you and Amelia, and maybe one day I will come back, and I will visit. Does that sound good?"

"You promise?"

"I promise. Listen, but that is not the sad thing I wanted to talk to you about." She hugged them tightly. "Did you notice Mister Walter didn't come by today?"

"Yeah, why didn't he?"

Zari cleared her throat and felt tears filling her eyes. "That's because he passed away over the weekend." She waited.

"Oh," said Jonathan.

"Oh," echoed Amelia.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Zari asked.

"Talk about what?"

"About Mister Walter passing away."

She felt Jonathan shrug. "When is he coming back?"

"'Scuse me?"

"When is Mister Walter coming back? You said he went away over the weekend."

Something dawned on her. "Um, do you guys know what 'passed away' means?"

"No," she heard their little voices say.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry, guys. It means Mister Walter is dead. He died over the weekend."

Both children burst into tears, and she pressed them close to her.

Mort stuck his head in the door, and when he saw all three sitting on the mattress dissolved in tears, he sat down and cried with them. He told them everything he knew about their friend's death, and that they would be going to his funeral together and meet his wife and maybe family, and that Jonathan wouldn't go to school on Thursday.

Thus prepared, they turned out the lights and Zari stayed with the children until they were asleep.

"Thanks for doing this, Zari," Mort said as she joined him back in the bar. Then he remembered something. "Hey, what was that you said yesterday about working at a club?"

Zari stood rooted to the spot, debating whether to tell the truth or make up a quick lie and ask him to forget about it. No, she decided, thinking of Walter, she would tell him everything. She was a grown woman and nobody could tell her what to do. "I started dancing until I have enough for Fiji and then I'll quit. It's totally safe. I know what I'm doing, so I don't wanna hear it."

Mort braced his arms on the counter and hung his head. She quickly stepped away to make the rounds, checking on customers before he could bitch and moan about it. She really didn't want to hear it.

They ignored each other for the rest of the night.

Ch 27

Thursday arrived bright and clear. They met at the funeral parlor before mass, and Mort and Merrill wore dark suits, which made them look so handsome Zari did a double take. Mort debated whether to let Jonathan say goodbye at the open coffin or keep him away until Zari advised him to let the boy decide for himself. Jonathan declined and they sat in the back, apart from all the old people who paid their last respect. They weren't sure which of them was Helen because everyone was sobbing and hugging, and nobody stood out in particular.

Later, during mass, an old man dressed in khaki's stepped up to the podium and gave a heartbreaking testimony about his best friend. Walter had been a bigger hero than they were aware of, and at the cemetery, the interment ceremony with full military honors, honor guard and bugle player, confirmed that fact. Most of the old timers stood at attention and saluted the coffin, which sat next to an open grave that had a headstone already in place.

It read, "Helen Marie Davis, beloved wife of Walter Ryan Davis."

"She died three years ago," Zari gasped.

Suddenly, Mort felt someone poking him on the shoulder. He turned around and an official looking man asked him quietly if he was Mort from the bar Walter used to frequent.

"Yes, that's me. Why?"

"Please come with me," the man said.

Mort and his little group followed him to the front of the crowd where they were told to wait. Two soldiers from the Honor Guard broke rank and began to fold the flag, while a three -gun salute was fired. When the flag was folded, the men marched up to Mort and presented it to him with the words, "On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Army, and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service."

Stunned, Mort accepted the flag and would have collapsed to his knees if it hadn't been for his brother standing next to him.

Zari, already choked up from the impressive ceremony, cried openly. She clutched the children's hands and held on to them as they watched with big, somber eyes while the bugler played taps followed by bagpipers with 'Amazing Grace'.

After the funeral, a man with a briefcase approached Mort and handed him his business card. "Please come to my office tomorrow morning at ten o'clock," he said. "Mr. Davis asked me to take care of something for him." He tipped his hat. "Sorry for your loss, sir."

Later, during dinner in a pub, Merrill said in a highly revered voice, "Walter never said a word about being the recipient of the Congressional Medal of Honor. Dayum. When you wear _that_ , even the President of the _United States_ has to salute you."

Dressed in a dark suit and hair slicked back, Mort sat in front of the lawyer who approached him at Walter's grave after the funeral.

"That was a funeral fit for a king yesterday," Mort began. "I can't get over the fact that they presented the flag to me. Doesn't he have any family?"

"None living. And that brings us to the agenda of this visit," the lawyer said, opening a folder. "Please call me Martin. Walter wanted you to know that he thought of you like a son, and he made you the heir of his estate. Which," he took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes, "consists of a small savings account and," he put the glasses back on, "his two-family home, mortgage free." He let it sink in.

"Wha...?"

"In other words, you're the owner of a debt-free home with all its contents. It has a small garden, Walter mentioned children, and it would be available for moving in or selling right away. If you do decide to keep it, he wanted you to know that he would be in full favor of having your brother Merrill and his little girl live there rent-free. It's up to you to mention this to him. He didn't want to step on your toes, but he also doesn't want bad blood among the two of you. That's why he designated a life insurance policy to Merrill. His topmost concern was that you brothers never fight over money; especially money coming from him. His hope was that it would make both your lives a little easier; as a thank you for giving him a place in your family when he was at his loneliest; after his Helen died." He pushed several forms toward Mort.

Mort sat motionless for several minutes, staring at the papers in front of him. "I have a house with a garden in the suburbs with a picket fence and all," he finally said. "Is this a fuckin' dream?"

"It's as real as you sitting in my office. The Davises never had children and all close relatives are dead. Walter was completely aware of what he was doing, and I can tell you he derived great pleasure from planning this. He wished he could have been present when you found out, but alas, he had to contend with imagining that you would be pleased and, hopefully, happy."

"Why did you not ask my brother to come here, too, since he's getting something?"

"Because Walter knew from a friend's experience how easily an inheritance can tear apart a family. Their house was left to two people. The owner had meant well, but it resulted in them fighting about it for years, spending thousands of dollars on lawyers without coming to a decision. The house stayed empty and is now falling apart. He wanted your name on the deed because he knew you longer. The life insurance will prevent that your brother feels left out." Martin handed Mort an envelope. "These are Merrill's. He can call the insurance any time. And now, all we have to do is sign a few papers, and you are the owner of a lovely home to do with as you please."

Ch 28

Two weeks later, the two brothers were moved into Walter's home. Mort took the first floor and Merrill was above him on the second. Boxes still needed unpacking, but the brothers didn't have a lot to begin with and were glad for the furniture and appliances already there.

It was a foggy, wet Monday night in spring when Mort walked the streets of Brooklyn with a cigarette in his mouth and the collar of his coat turned up around his ears, hiding like a turtle in its shell. He was restless. Now that he had everything he could ever wish for, why did he feel like a caged animal?

Merrill gave him the name of the club Zari danced at after Rowena accidentally blurted it out one night, advising Mort to brace himself for seeing something he might not want to see. Mort had just circled the building for the third time. Zari was inside, and he finally approached the red door and stepped through. She didn't notice him. Mort walked up to the DJ and requested 'Jungle' by Jamie and the Commons, and when it began to play, Zari looked around as if searching for someone. It was the song she danced to for him in the hotel room during their second time together.

She spotted Mort standing in the corner and waved him over. He took a seat in the front row, handing her a fifty dollar bill, which she stuffed into her bra. Later, when she passed him again, she whispered for him to wait until after her shift, and she would take care of him then. She asked the DJ to play 'Heaven Knows' by The Pretty Reckless, and gave a performance he understood was meant just for him.

There were only a few people in the club at this time and several girls on the platform, so Zari didn't receive all the attention, which made it easier for her to concentrate on Mort. She prepared to do a lap dance on him when one of the managers stepped in and ordered her back on stage. She blushed but was grateful that Mort witnessed firsthand that her job was as harmless as she told him it was.

When her shift was over, she winked at him before disappearing into the dressing room. A minute later, she heard a knock on her door.

"Yes?"

Mort stepped in and quickly closed the door.

"Mort, what are you doing? You can't be in here! One of the girls might come in at any time." But Zari laughed as she yelled at him. She sat in front of the mirror and had just taken off her top. She quickly slipped into a robe.

Mort sat on her seat. "What about finishing that lap dance you started out there?" He pulled her onto his knees and buried his face into her open robe, kissing her breasts.

She straddled him, and there was no doubt that the job she started needed to be finished, or he would be in serious discomfort. It had been a few weeks since they'd been together last, and it felt almost like the first time with each other; new and special. Both knew Zari would be leaving, so they forbade themselves to fall in love, but lust was different and they let it run its course.

She moved her pelvis, rubbing her clit against his hard thighs, and reached into his pants while he had his face buried in her robe. She peeled the top part of his jeans down as much as she could without taking off his pants to expose his penis, which was throbbing and ready to go. Then she knelt on the floor and took it in her mouth glans first, licking it gently and fluttering her tongue around the frenulum, which drove him nearly mad, before taking on as much as could fit in her mouth.

Mort grabbed her by the hair and moaned with his head thrown back in ecstasy. They knew they had to hurry, so she worked her magic to make him cum quickly, but before he did, he grabbed a tissue and pushed her head away at the last moment, using the tissue to catch his jism.

Mort still sat on the chair when the door flew open and the same manager from before stormed in. When he saw Zari on her knees in front of the stranger with his pants open, he shouted, "Pack your things and get out. You're fired. You know the rules of this establishment. We don't need any trouble here. You can play prostitute out on the street."

Zari closed her robe and grabbed her clothes from the hanger. She was shaking from shock. She had never been fired before.

Mort took her in his arms and tried to calm her. "If it makes you feel any better, my professor fired me today, too, so we're both misfits. People just get frustrated trying to conform rebels like us. Don't worry. We'll be better off without them."

"Oh, no, Mort. You got kicked out of acting school? Why would he do that? What about your dream now?" Zari looked crestfallen.

He tipped up her chin and grinned. "Not all is lost. Let me finish. The professor called me into his office and said he was getting fed up with my stubbornness, and that I'm not fit for his class. At first, I was pissed, but then he said it doesn't mean I'm no good; it means I'm in my own league and have to follow my gut. That sounded about right so I felt a little better, but still. He gave me a note with a name and number and said call this guy and tell him he sent me. He suggested I try out for a new series they're casting for, called 'The Seahorse Diaries.'"

"Really? What is it about?"

"It's an m-preg; males getting pregnant after an alien invasion."

"Jesus, that sounds really dumb. Pregnant guys? What on earth for?"

"To change the way people are, I think. The idea behind it is if bad guys give birth, they would feel like mothers and never want another war. He wants me to try for the main part, the first male bearer. Savior of the World, more or less."

Zari busted out laughing. "That's the craziest thing I ever heard. You saving the world? Oh, Mort, I hope you're not getting the big head if they cast you for that."

"Hey, if it doesn't work out, I still have the bar. And at least I tried, right?"

"Yeah, I guess." She seemed depressed. "Now what do I do? This dance gig really made a difference in my savings, and now the rent is due and most of it will be gone." She sighed.

"Hey, relax. I have an idea. Why don't you move your stuff into the spare bedroom and stay rent free until you leave? Then all you have to concentrate on is the bar and the pies. You could fill up the freezer before you leave."

"You mean it? What about Merrill?"

"I mean it, and it's none of his business. I have a feeling he's with Rowena, and it's just a matter of time until she moves in. They're probably waiting to hear if she'll make it before Amelia gets used to having mommy around again, which is smart."

Zari grabbed the $50 bill he handed her earlier and stuffed it into his jeans pocket. "I can't accept this. It would make me a whore. But, I will take you up on the rent-free offer."

Ch 29

They were unpacking boxes and setting up house while Roberta and Tolstoi sniffed each other's butts. At least they didn't fight as long as they kept a certain distance. Zari, who was seriously into minimalism as advocated by Marie Kondo and the Japanese blogger Fumio Sasaki, had only brought her bare necessities and gotten rid of everything else. Her room was bright and open, with polished hardwood floors and creamy white walls. The only items in it were her Japanese mattress on the floor, a small table for her laptop, and a few clothes in the closet, so the room looked bare. She divided her pots and pans and coats and shoes among the kitchen and wardrobe in the hallway closet, leaving her room clutter free. There was a shoe box in the back of the closet stuffed with letters and photographs of a young Walter and Helen. Zari shoved them back into the corner for now, planning to look at them later.

As she organized her newest living quarters, she thought about how this setup would affect her relationship with Mort, who was her boss first and lover second. Did they want a steady sexual relationship or to keep it to the times when it rained? She wanted to discuss this with him later so there would be no confusion.

Jonathan was thrilled to have the whole gang from the bar living under one roof, and he and Amelia raced each other up and down the stairs, squealing with joy.

After dinner, when the children watched TV, Zari approached Mort. "Can I talk to you for a sec?"

"Sure. What's up?" He threw the dish towel in the sink and joined her at the kitchen table.

"So, how do we do this? Still only when it rains, or not at all because of Jonathan?"

He fiddled with a drinking straw wrapper on the table.

"It's no secret that we hook up. Everybody probably knows, so we don't need to pretend. Whatever you wanna do. You wanna keep it to rainy days or go at it whenever the mood strikes... both are fine with me." He grinned.

"Haha, funny. Anyway, I just don't want any misunderstanding and you expecting we'll do it every chance we get. I am still going away soon, and saying goodbye would be so much harder if we're involved, right?"

"Yeah, it's probably impossible to carry on anything long distance," he said quietly. "Let's just take it one day at a time."

Saving money on rent made a big difference for Zari, and she was approaching her goal steadily.

Mort auditioned at the casting call, then talked about nothing else. "Okay, the concept is, aliens infiltrated earth to secretly check if they want to live here, but they didn't like the wars and crime going on, so they vaccinated the worst guys with a virus that turned them into male bearers, thinking it will make them less violent if they have a kid. I tried out for Darrell, a real badass. I think I could make it work. Something about him speaks to me." When Mort received a call back, he was as nervous as a schoolboy before his first date.

Merrill and Rowena were officially together, and as soon as Rowena received the all-clear from the oncologist, Merrill prepared Amelia by telling her that mommy was getting better and would soon be able to take care of her again. He planned a get-together at the house, which Zari and Mort turned into a party downstairs after Amelia reunited with her mother privately upstairs. Walter would have loved seeing so much laughter and happiness in his house.

Rowena looked better than ever. She had filled out and her hair was growing back in a flaming red color, which did wonders for her emerald eyes. Amelia clung to her the whole time, and suddenly Merrill blurted out if Rowena would be interested in moving in with them. It would just make sense for all concerned. He looked at his brother for permission and Mort nodded, then mouthed, "No problem."

Rowena teared up, visibly touched. She picked up Amelia and hugged her close as the others huddled around them for a group hug. Mort popped open a bottle of champagne and they clinked glasses. Things were looking up for everybody, but despite Zari having almost saved up the money she needed, this was the only part that sucked because it meant she was leaving.

Amidst the festivities, Mort's cell phone rang, and he ducked into his bedroom to take the call. When he returned, he looked stunned, but a grin began spreading across his face.

"I'm in," he announced. "They want me to play Darrell in that new series. I got the part!" He sounded shocked.

At first, nobody moved. They were as stunned as he was, then Zari fell into his arms and cried. "I am so, so happy and proud. You did it! Now we'll both be living our dreams!" They clinked glasses again.

A thunderclap roared over the house. Dark clouds gathered on the horizon and soon, lightning flashed through the air and the sound of thunder came closer. The lights in the house flickered, then went off. Jonathan and Amelia screamed, not in fear but excitement as long as the adults remained calm. Merrill and Zari observed Mort who seemed to be doing okay. Rowena, who didn't know that Mort used to be petrified of storms, searched for candles, which she lit and distributed around the room. Now it really looked festive.

The storm raged on and Mort, while still looking a bit insecure, was able to joke. "Playing a male bearer involves getting periods." He turned bright red. "The lady who wrote the series said that was the original idea, wishing everything women have to go through on men."

It was the funniest thing they ever heard, and the adults erupted in laughter. Merrill would never let him live this down, but Mort didn't care. He was going to be an actor, and his fear of thunderstorms had vanished.

When Zari's eyes met his, she noticed a flicker of relief and gratitude. She sidled up next to Merrill and whispered, "See how well your brother is doing during a storm now? Still doubting the possibility of having lived before?"

"I'll answer that when I'm drunk enough," he said and grinned. "That is fucked up stuff for me, no matter how much proof I have. I can't wrap my head around it, but cheers!"

"Sláinte! Damn, I wish Walter and Helen could be here," Zari said.

As if on cue, everybody raised their glasses heavenward and shouted, "To Walter and Helen, thank you, guys! This is just awesome."

Then a particularly loud thunderbolt crashed above them and Mort paled. He retreated to the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. Zari followed and saw him sitting on the bathtub, holding his head in his hands.

"You okay?"

"Mhm. Just a bit nervous. I don't know yet how I'll do when it's really bad so I'll just wait it out here."

"Mind if I join you?"

He moved over to make room for her. "So this is it. Soon, we'll both be moving on. I'll have to hire a barkeeper for the time I'm on the set; decide whether to take Jonathan with me, or see if Rowena is willing to watch him. I don't know. This is all so unexpected, it's almost scary. I just wish..."

"You just wish what?" she asked tenderly.

He looked at her shyly, turned away, looked back at her, kneading his fingers. "You know. That you would be around."

"Let's not think about it. Hey, if there are big ass spiders in Fiji, I'm out of there on the next plane smoking."

They laughed. She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just thinking."

He wrapped his arm around her, and she lifted her head, looking directly into his intense blue eyes.

A moment later, they were in each other's arms and kissed with such hunger and urgency, they almost forgot they weren't alone. The door was still open, and the kids ran up and down the hallway, making as much noise as they could. Merrill was hollering something in the kitchen. Rowena shouted after the children just as they came running into the bathroom. Mort and Zari broke apart, breathless.

Zari jumped up and raised her arms. "Booo!"

The kids fell over each other trying to escape to the kitchen, yelling and screaming that Zari scared them and begging her to do it again. Mort chased them down the hall and through the rooms until Rowena told them to put on their pajamas and brush their teeth. When the children were in bed, one upstairs with the baby monitor on, and the other downstairs, the adults debated whether to play a game or call it a night.

"Wait, I have an idea!" Zari shouted and ran into her room. She came back with the shoe box and placed it ceremoniously on the kitchen table. "Look what I found in the closet. I think these are pictures from when Walter and Helen were young, along with some letters. Let's look through them. If Walter wouldn't have wanted us to find them, he would have discarded them, right? Maybe we'll discover the secret to everlasting love besides owning two TV's."

Ch 30

They rummaged through the box, pulling out love letters and black and white studio shots.

"Oh, look at this one. They were so young. It's hard to believe it's them!"

"Wow, that is from when he was in the war. Didn't he look spiffy?"

"Look at this one. Helen was a babe!"

Mort grabbed one of the pictures. "She looks familiar, but I don't remember where I've seen her." He looked at another one and shook his head. "Even Walter, when he was younger. They remind me of someone."

"Okay, let's read a letter. Listen up," Zari said and positioned a candle so she could read the faded words written over forty years ago.

Dearest Wally,

I hope all is well with you over there, and I pray morning and night for your safe return. I often think about the day I first laid eyes on you and how my life was never the same afterward. Remember the retreat we were on with our Youth Group in the Pocono Mountains, and we came back from a hike, and sat in the dining room having dinner before a movie? The girls at my table talked about the 'poor guy whom they all felt sorry for,' and when I asked who they were talking about, they pointed to a table behind me. I turned around and saw this very pimply, scrawny, miserable looking boy and said, "Maybe it's because of all his acne." I can't believe I was so mean back then, but I really didn't mean it in a bad way. And they said, "No, that's not the guy we're talking about. He's sitting in the row behind him; the one with the blue shirt and blue eyes." Well, when I looked again, I saw this boy with a bright, honest face and piercing, steel blue eyes. It felt like I was struck by lightning! When I turned back around, I was not the same person anymore. I was deeply and crazy in love! I asked my friends why they would feel sorry for him, and they said he just lost his mother, and his father didn't care much about him. My goodness, I was just about to burst into tears when I heard that, but I held back and kept looking at you any chance I got. Remember when I asked you to come for a walk with me, and we talked about everything as if we had known each other forever?

Now I will tell you a little secret, Wally. I was so close to kissing you that night. Whenever we stopped to look each other in the eyes, but I didn't dare because I was four years older than you, and I never thought you would be interested in an 'old lady' like me. So when you finally kissed me weeks later at the pictures, I couldn't sleep for days! We always considered that day to be the start of our courtship, but in my heart, I knew it was much earlier when I first saw you at the retreat in these Pennsylvania mountains.

I can't wait to hold you in my arms again, but I understand we don't have a choice right now. You had to go and do your duty, and I am honored to be the one lighting a candle for you in the window every night. Don't worry about me, darling Wally, because this time apart will end one day and we will be together again. Promise to take care of yourself and return safe and sound. I promise I will be here waiting for you with a lavender rose on my lapel; the one you gave me before you left. You are always in my prayers.

All my love, now and forever,

Helen

"Aw, that is so sweet," Zari said. "People had such a classy way of writing back then. Does someone else want to read a letter? One from Walter maybe?" Zari handed a letter to Merrill. "Here, read this one. Let's see what he wrote to his 'old lady'. Pretend you're him and put all your lovey-dovey feelings into it."

"Shit, that stuff is too gushy for me. I hope I don't gag," Merrill said and reached for the letter. He cleared his throat and read.

My dearest Helen,

This is the saddest Christmas I ever had. Even the ones after my mother died were more bearable because I was with my family and didn't feel as alone as I do right now. The war is dragging on, and it's been six months since I held you in my arms. I survive this hell because of you and plod on so I can cross off another day until we can be together again. I know this is hard on you, on both of us, but I'm begging you to never give up waiting for me. I trust that God will keep you safe so that I can go on and do my duty, knowing what reward awaits me at the end of this tour.

Do not worry too much about me even though I am asking you to keep me in your prayers. It is a war, after all. In another six months, I will be home. I can't wait to see what you're planning for our wedding. I don't care if we serve lemonade and sandwiches as long as I can finally be with you for the rest of our lives.

Babydoll, when I met you, the Lord gave me a glimpse into heaven and I only feel whole when I am with you. I place you in his infinite care now and always, and I send kisses to you across the Pacific and the great country I fight for and will return to soon again.

Merry Christmas, my darling Helen. May it be the last one we are apart, and I look forward to many, many more together.

Be safe and know that you are loved by this crazy lad in jungle fatigues, wishing he could hold you in his arms right now and plant real kisses all over your angel face.

Forever yours,

Always in my heart,

Wally

Staff Sergeant Walter R. Davis, United States Army, Saigon, Vietnam, Christmas 1974

A hush fell over them. They thought about the old gentleman who stopped in the bar every day it was open, and who had been so good to them. He always had advice for everyone, no matter what situation they found themselves in and often wondered how to go on. The old sergeant, who must have been a daredevil during the war in which he saved his comrades lives in an act of valor, had a sweet side nobody knew about. They needed to process what they had just read.

Men actually wrote letters like that? Men who fought in a bloody war and killed people and saw unimaginable horror every day they were over there?

"Well, I'll be damned," Merrill said into his beer. "The old goat knew how ta serenade the ladies."

"Proof right there that love, if it's meant to be, can conquer anything, even time and distance," Rowena added. "Well, Merrill. What do you think? Ready to go upstairs and call it a night?"

Mort and Zari stared at each other. As soon as the door clicked shut behind Merrill and Rowena, Mort rushed across the room, picked Zari off the chair and carried her to the kitchen counter, swiping everything out of the way before plunking her down. He ravenously planted kisses over her face while at the same time ripping off her blouse so eagerly that the buttons popped and ricocheted across the room. Zari unzipped his jeans and yanked them down to his knees. The beast stood at attention before he even scrambled out of his underwear and had her peeled out of her pants.

Freed at last, they plunged into each other's arms as his penis found her core and rammed into it. He pumped with a voracious desire that kept building and found its release only when he felt her muscles pulsating around his shaft. They buried their faces into each other's necks and hair in an effort to stifle their screams so Jonathan wouldn't wake up and find them on the counter doing it like crazed beasts. Mort carried her into his room, where he threw her on his bed.

"Imagine I dragged you in here by your hair. Me, Tarzan; you; Jane."

She laughed. "No; me, Zari; you, Mort. Much better."

They made love all night, alternating between wild and gentle and everything in between, showering each other with kisses and declarations of love. They rested in each other's arms, amazed at the intensity of their feelings now permitted and unleashed, thanks to ancient love letters, which meant Walter was still looking out for them even from his grave.

When the sun came up they felt more energized than ever. It was time to get Jonathan ready for school. Zari went to wake him while Mort made breakfast and then waited with him for the bus. Merrill sat in his truck in the driveway, ready to go to work.

"Tell Zari thanks for opening a can of worms. Guess what Ro wants fer Christmas," he shouted from the truck.

"A love letter from you?"

"How the hell ya know that?"

"Just a wild guess. You better start composing soon," Mort teased.

"Don't worry, lil brother. I'll make sure ya won't fare any better." Merrill touched the bill of his cap. "Later."

Ch 31

Mort and Zari decided to let the year come to a close without worrying about their dreams or what the future might bring. The two families would celebrate Christmas together and wait until New Year's to start with their life-changing preparations. The four adults, plus the little ones, could hammer out plans and send wishes to heaven, where Walter, and probably Helen, watched over them and would guide them in the right direction. But Merrill had been right about one thing; his brother ended up in the same predicament he did. Both ladies wanted nothing else for Christmas than a "Walter" letter, and they promised they would make it up to them in very special ways.

It would be their first Christmas together for both couples. The little ones helped decorate the bar with whatever Mort kept in a box in the back room. It looked so pathetic that the 'Unhappy Wives' purged their attics and dragged in decorations that rivaled the ones in the stores on 5th Avenue. They even decorated Walter's seat, and Mort had a brass plate made and engraved with Walter's name and his favorite quote attributed to the Canadian hockey champ, Wayne Gretzky.

"You'll miss one hundred percent of the shots you never take."

That had been Walter's motto, and Mort was grateful that it helped him take a shot with Zari after being set on never letting another woman into his life, let alone his heart. If this didn't work out, all he had to do was blame himself and move on.

He mounted the plaque on the backrest of the chair. As an additional sign of his respect and admiration, he hung the folded flag on the wall above the seat on which no one was allowed to sit on. It was forever dedicated to their friend. Zari found a small decorated Christmas tree among the pile of ornaments and set it on Walter's table.

"Last Christmas, we sat here and sang carols and exchanged a couple presents," Mort reminisced. "Of course, this was just a man cave then. I can't believe how much everything changed in just one year. He was right to hire you. Everything that's happened is because of you."

"Oh, stop being all dramatic. Ya sound ridiculous," Merrill complained from behind the bar. "No sense pulling up the past. Here, everybody," he said and handed out spiked eggnog. "They're on the house. Thanks, Morty. Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals!"

They all laughed.

"I love that movie!" Zari shouted. "We'll have to let Jonathan watch it. Maybe he'll lighten up. He's too well behaved. I like manners, but he's a kid, for crying out loud."

"Ya just wait and see. Now that he has his awesome Uncle Merrill living under the same roof, he'll turn out fuckin' fabulous."

Mort groaned. "That's all I need; him turning out like you." He winked at his brother. "Cheers, and Merry Christmas everybody."

Zari nudged Rowena and they started giggling. "Hey, you guys. We can't wait to read your letters. You better have them ready, or there'll only be coal in your stockings."

Merrill whipped around. "Hey, I would have preferred coal over writing a dumb letter. I didn't know that was an option."

"Ah," Rowena said, "You probably went online and stole a love letter from someone else."

"Damn, didn't even think of that. What about you?" He looked at Mort. "Did ya write anything up? Lemme guess. Yer so pussy-whipped already, ya probably wrote a ten-pager and wrapped it up all purty with a mistletoe on top, making me look bad."

"No, not a ten pager, but it took me about ten hours to write."

"See, what'd I tell ya? Took me ten minutes, cause I knew I couldn't do it. So I just composed a poem. Can't read it out loud cause it's dirty."

"Ugh, I don't wanna hear my brother write about sex."

"Ya should, though. Might learn something, lil brother."

"Sorry for interrupting, but your brother does not need help with doing the 'dirty'. I can vouch for that," Zari said, cheeks red from the drink. "He is the ultimate filthy animal, my friends."

"Ooooh, Mort, way to go!" Rowena and Merrill yelled.

"Boy, I tell ya. It's either nuthin' or exceeding all my hopes and dreams. Well, I'm glad ta hear that. Makes me so proud it would bring a tear to a glass eye." Merrill slapped him on the shoulder and danced a little jig. "Go, Morty. Go, Morty."

Mort was so embarrassed, he turned bright red, but he laughed along with them.

"Wait till y'all hear my rhyming skills," Merrill announced. "I just made up another one. Roses are red. Violets are blue. Some poems rhyme. This one doesn't." He laughed out loud at his own joke while the others groaned.

Jonathan came running toward them. "Hey Uncle Merrill. Say, 'Knock, knock.'"

"Who's there?" Merrill played along.

"No, _you_ have to say knock knock."

"But that's not how it goes. Okay, knock knock."

"Come in!" Jonathan shouted and ran off screaming with laughter, Amelia at his heels. She followed her big cousin everywhere, which pleased him to no end. It made him feel important. They zoomed back around. "It's the fastest way to kill a knock-knock joke," Jonathan shouted in passing.

Mort laughed his ass off. Later, he cornered Merrill and demanded to see the poem he wrote to Rowena to ward off possible disaster on Christmas Eve. He knew his brother all too well.

Merrill pulled it out of his pocket and reluctantly handed it to Mort. "Now read it with an open mind, will ya?" he advised and watched him apprehensively. "It has two endings. I couldn't decide which one ta keep."

Mort read:

Eenie meanie, miney moe

Merrill's out to catch a hoe

If she hollers, y'all will know

He went down on her, below

OR

Old Merrill's pretty good in the sack!

Pissed, Mort crumpled it up and threw it at his brother. "You're such an ass. Even on Christmas, man. Now sit down and rewrite it. We're not leaving until you come up with a decent letter."

Merrill complained but did as told. He chewed on his fingers, deep in thought. Then he started writing. When he was finished, he read it back to himself and pumped his fist in the air. "Ole Merle gonna show all of you how it's done. You won't believe what hit you when you see this beaut."

Mort tried to grab the page away from him for another read-thru, but Merrill yanked it away and held it out his reach. "You'll just have to trust me on this one, lil brother. I promise it'll be nothing you expected."

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm afraid of. I'm warning you, Merle, you better do right by her. She's a good woman; better than you deserve."

Merrill folded it up and stuck it in his shirt pocket. "Okay, let's get this party started. Gimme another beer."

"Nice try. We're closing up and going home, getting the kids to bed so they're ready for Santa in the morning."

The adults sat in the parlor around the huge, brightly decorated tree with a fire roaring in the fireplace. Zari and Rowena set out mulled wine and a plate of cookies Rowena had baked with the kids throughout December.

"Let's do presents now," Zari said. "I can't wait to read what you wrote, baby."

"Yeah, let's. It's so much more relaxed without the kids," Rowena added. Looking at Mort, she said, "Wanna go first?"

"How about, let's do presents, get drunk, pass out, and forget about the letters?" Mort said.

Rowena ignored him. "Okay, I'll go first. Here, Merrill. I made this for you." She handed Merrill a wrapped package and waited expectantly. He shook it.

"Hm. No sound; it's not a car key." They laughed. Merrill's old truck was on its last tire, but he wanted to drive it as long as it would go. He lifted the lid and pulled out a periwinkle blue cabled knit sweater, which he held up for all to see. "Wow, you made this? I can't believe it!"

"Try it on."

Merrill slipped it over his head. The color amplified the blue of his eyes and lit up his whole face. He embraced Rowena and planted a kiss on her mouth. "Thanks, hon. I don't know what to say. Nobody ever made anything for me." He sounded choked up.

"Did you see the note on the bottom? Here." Rowena grabbed a piece of paper from the box and handed it to him. She beamed as he read it. "A clean bill of health? Yer good? The cancer is gone?"

"Not a trace of it left."

"It's a miracle! A Christmas miracle!" Zari shouted.

They took turns hugging Rowena, and even the men wiped their eyes.

Zari crouched by the tree and pulled out a box from under it, which she handed to Mort. "Merry Christmas, babe."

Mort ripped off the wrapping paper, lifted the lid and found a sleeveless vest with angel wings stitched on the back. He was speechless. "That is so badass. I can't believe something like this exists."

"I saw it in a catalog and copied it. Just changed the design some to make it look more masculine. I figured, if you're playing a guy who is saving the world, you need to look the part."

Mort nodded. "Hey, if they let me, I'll wear it on the set!"

Now that the men had gotten presents, the ladies wanted theirs.

"Time for the letters, boys. Give it up," Zari said. Seeing their hesitation, she added, "We don't have to read them aloud in front of everybody if you don't want us to."

Mort stared at Merrill until he met his gaze and warned him not to mess this up. Merrill grinned like a devil and pulled the folded paper out of his pocket. He ceremoniously handed it to Rowena. "Dearest, if you don't mind, please read it out loud." Then he crossed his arms behind his back and bounced on the balls of his feet. Mort pretended to cover his ears which made Merrill chuckle. "Expect ta be blown away, ever'body. Ole Merle got this covered. It'll be a Christmas y'all never forget."

"Oh, boy. We're in for it now," Roberta said and took a deep breath. She positioned herself in front of the tree and began to read:

"Dear Rowena,

I'm no good at the mushy stuff, but I want to tell you that you made my life so much better than it ever was before. So here is a poem that is trying to tell you why.

Being with you

Adds fun

Divides problems

Mirrors joy

Deflects grief

Doubles happiness

Halves worries

Echoes love

Lessens pain

and shares life with our little girl

I am glad we're 'in this together'."

Suddenly Rowena gasped and clutched the letter to her chest. "Oh my goodness, I can't believe what it says here." They urged her to go on and she continued:

"PS: Do you want to marry me?

PPS: I mean it. I want to be the soldier who captures your heart...

Love, Merrill Jay Boanerges; Mechanic; Brooklyn, NY; Christmas 2016"

Zari squealed.

Mort stared at his brother with a mix of shock and admiration. "You wrote this? You, of all people? And, and you're proposing in the same letter? You are unbelievable, you know that?"

"It gets better," Merrill said. He approached Rowena, knelt in front of her and said, "I've been carrying this around in my pocket fer weeks, waiting for the right moment. Fuck, that's a lie... waitin' ta get over my fear of commitment and all that other stuff. I decided ta drive my old truck for another year and put the money into this." Merrill held out a box containing a diamond ring. "So anyway, Ro, what d'ya say? Will ya have me?"

Rowena burst into tears and fell around Merrill's neck. "Yes, you old hound dog! Of course, I will have you! This is the most romantic thing you ever did."

Ch 32

While the newly-engaged couple shared a tender moment, Mort shyly handed Zari an envelope. It was wrapped like a present with a bow on it. "Please don't show it to anybody," he asked and walked away, pretending to be busy in the kitchen.

Zari sat in the recliner and began reading:

Dear Zari,

You asked me to write a letter like the one our friend Walter wrote to Helen from the Vietnam War. I was never good at writing, and sure as hell never good at talking about my feelings, but I will try my best to describe any kind of feelings for the first time in my life. (Hell, it took me an hour just to decide how to start. I was stuck. Dearest Zari, Darling Zari, Beloved, it all sounded wrong. Not because it's not what I mean, it just didn't sound like me. Do you know what I mean?) So I'll just use a generic title for now, and see if I think of something better.

It feels strange, as if someone else is holding the pen and putting words onto the paper as they come out when I listen to my inside. I hope it doesn't sound crazy or half-assed, but real and honest and what you deserve to hear. My hand is shaking because I am baring my soul, and I have no idea what will come out. I might end up burning the letter and tell you I was too stupid to do it. Strange, now I feel free to let it flow, uncensored and all...

I never met a woman like you. Someone who made me feel whole and content and able to achieve anything I set my mind to. You are full of surprises and you are fun, love and caring. You do your own thing, not worrying what others think. (This is all true and coming from the heart, but it sounds lame. I wish I could express myself better, but this has to do for now since it's almost Christmas).

The only time I ever felt something similar was when I was an ignorant teenager without sense or direction. All I did was follow my brother around and did what he said to do. He jumped from girl to girl and made fun of me for being such a timid ass until I met a girl in school who I fell in love with. We spent every day together, but when her parents found out she was wasting her life with me, a poor bum with a father who was a worthless drunk, they forbade her from seeing me and she broke up with me. It nearly killed me and broke my heart so bad, I vowed I would never love again, except animals, and later, my son.

When you walked into the bar that day last January, something happened. I had a wall around my heart, but somehow you found a way through a back door or hidden path, an opening I wasn't aware of. I never believed in love at first sight, but it's the only way I can explain what happened, and it scared me. Walter must have seen it in my eyes, because he told me, "Don't let this one get away." I didn't know what he meant at first, and when he 'hired' you, I braced myself and guarded my heart even more, but it didn't work. You offered sex without strings attached, and I jumped at the chance; not because I'm a guy and it's all we think about, but because I knew I could be with you under the pretense of 'just' sex. But my feelings for you intensified every time I was with you. I acted gruff on purpose to deter you, to drive you away because I didn't dare fall for a girl so strong and determined and full of all that's good. I was afraid of getting hurt again, and most of all, of hurting you. I had nothing to offer. I was nothing; a nobody with no future and a shitty past. All I could give was a fragile present which could fall apart any day, especially when Jon's mother was still in the picture. I was so poor, I considered moving into the bar and living in the back, but I couldn't because of Jonathan. So I sold my bike to drag out the time until I would be an utter failure and lose even the last penny and shred of hope. You didn't let this happen. Not only did you help me overcome my biggest handicap, PTSD from a childhood from hell, and much earlier, living through the terrible fire, but you helped me see beyond tomorrow, to the horizon where my greatest dream awaited: to become an actor. I fought against it with all my heart because why should something good suddenly happen to me? Never in a million years would I have thought it possible that I, a useless, discarded boy from the dregs of society, could achieve something so impossible. At least, that's what it felt like at the time.

You have turned all this around, even before Walter in his kindness trusted his home into my care to make life a bit easier. You got all these miracles rolling, by building me up and loving me and making me feel I am worthy to be loved. It is now time for you to follow your dream, and I would cut off my tongue before asking you to stay. I found this ring in a box in Helen's night stand, as if she left it there on purpose. I want to give it to you this Christmas as a 'Promise to wait for you' token. I will never hold you back from going after your dream, but I promise to wait for you at the other end of your adventure; if you want me to and desire to do the same for me. For us.

Thank you for giving me a life worth living and for healing my heart. It is yours for as long as you want.

Mort

(Maybe I won't burn the letter after all, but please don't let anybody see it!)

Zari looked up, directly at a conch shell Mort held out to her now. On its lip perched a sapphire ring encrusted with diamonds, which he slid onto her left ring finger.

"As blue as the ocean you'll be swimming in. I had it blessed by a priest, so you'll be safe."

She threw her arms around his neck and held him tight. "This is incredible! Of course, I want you to wait for me. But what if I'm gone too long?"

"I'll wait as long as it takes. If their love lasted through a war, I think ours can make it through a gig in paradise and a few months of filming." He looked at the letter still in her hand. "Don't show it to anybody, please. I would die!"

"Okay, I promise."

They locked lips in a kiss until she felt the letter being snatched out of her hand. "Let's see what lover boy had ta say."

They drew apart and Mort ran after his brother, trying to get the letter into which he had poured his heart away from him. "Merrill, give it to me now!" he ordered. "I swear, I'm gonna kill you!" He chased him around the tree.

Zari waited for Merrill on the other side, tackled him, and Mort was able to wrestle the letter out of his hand. "If it's so important to you," Zari said, "this is what he wrote. He wants to throw me against a tree and fuck me so hard, my legs will tremble for days after. Happy?" She indicated to Rowena that this was not what he wrote, just what Merrill liked to hear. Merrill whooped with delight, while Mort shook his head in disbelief and rolled his eyes.

"Thanks," he whispered in Zari's direction.

The New Year began as a dreary, gray day that kept people in their beds as long as they could, sleeping off hangovers from the night before. They held a big bash at the bar and all the regulars came, including a few newcomers. Zari and Angie did the hair and makeup of the 'Unhappy Wives' for the occasion, while their husbands met early and got a few rounds of fighting in, then joined the party with black eyes and busted lips. Merrill came out of the room with a bloody nose, complaining that his heart just wasn't in it anymore.

"That just goes to show you the difference between men and women," Angie said. "Women spend all this time and money getting their faces done up while the guys prefer theirs demolished. We really are from different planets."

Mort and Zari knew that the coming year would bring great changes for them. Both were taking a plunge into the unknown and leaving an accustomed lifestyle behind. They promised each other if going after their dreams wasn't what they had hoped for, they would abandon their endeavors and pick up where they'd left off.

"We'll give it a shot," they said, "and see how it goes. Next year, at this time, we'll know more. But if we don't try, we will always wonder what could have been," Zari said, more to herself than anyone else.

Besides, they still had a few months together before it all went down. Mort didn't have to be on the set until the beginning of May, and Zari would be leaving around that time, too. This way, nobody was left behind without the other.

"This is weird," Mort remarked as they went over their packing checklists one morning. "Shouldn't we be planning trips we go on together? Ours are headed in totally different directions."

"That's because, one, we're not normal. And two, because we planned all this before we were together. The question is, will we make it? It's going to be a test."

"We better make it."

"That's the plan."

They embraced for a long time.

"At least we can Facetime and text each other whenever we want. Walter and Helen only had letters," Zari mumbled into Mort's chest. "I'll get a GoPro and take underwater pictures, so you can see what it's like. But... " she sighed.

"But what, babe?"

"You'll be so busy on the set, and you'll meet all these cool actors... you'll forget about me soon." She looked up at him. "Please, just be honest with me."

He held her away from him and gazed deeply into her eyes. "Never, Zari. Don't ever say that again. All I want is you."

Ch 33

Merrill and Rowena were married at the end of April before Mort and Zari left for their separate destinations. Jonathan would be staying with his cousin upstairs during the few months Mort was gone. His and Zari's bags were packed, a barman and assistant were hired, and Merrill offered to look in on things periodically, like every night. Things were getting serious.

They made love every chance they got. One Monday afternoon, Mort left Jonathan with Rowena and packed a knapsack while Zari was in the shower. He waited until she was in her room getting dressed, then grabbed her long winter coat out of the hallway wardrobe and followed her in.

"Don't turn around," he ordered.

Zari stood motionless in front of her closet. Mort approached from behind and placed a blindfold over her eyes. He draped the coat around her, buttoned it and guided her feet into her fleece-lined boots. The sun had been out all day and warmed the spring air. He hoped it wasn't too chilly for what he had planned.

Zari giggled. "Where are we going, hon?"

"Ssshhh, it's a surprise. You'll have to trust me."

"I trust you."

He put the knapsack on his back and guided her outside. He helped her climb onto his motorcycle, where he fastened helmets on their heads and drove off with her sitting behind him, wearing nothing but underwear and a coat, destination unknown. Half an hour later, they left the freeway and drove down a quiet country road which turned into a rocky path with birdsong all around.

"Are we in the woods?" Zari asked.

"Almost there. You'll see."

Mort parked the bike and helped her down. He let her take off the helmet but not the blindfold. Holding her by the arm, he guided her a little ways before stopping and saying, "Now."

She lifted the mask and looked around. They stood in a clearing surrounded by a dense forest. Mort spread a blanket on the ground, took off the knapsack, and started setting up the picnic he brought.

"Sorry it's in a knapsack, but I didn't want to strap a basket to my back. I hope it didn't get too messed up." He pulled out a bottle of champagne, two plastic glasses, sandwiches, chips, and chocolate covered strawberries. "It's not a feast, but it'll do the trick."

"Oooh, and what trick would that be?"

"Eat, then you shall find out. You'll need your strength." He raised his eyebrows in quick succession.

"Now what have you planned, you bad boy?" Zari asked, biting into a sandwich. "A hike through the woods?"

He shrugged, grinning. "Something like that."

They devoured the sandwiches, fed the strawberries to each other, and toasted to their future with champagne. Then he helped her up. "Take your coat off," he demanded.

"But I'm not wearing anything."

"I said take it off."

She let the coat fall to the ground.

"Now run."

Zari hesitated, not sure how to react to this bizarre request, but knew better than to ask. She took a few steps away from him, then turned and crashed through the underbrush, hearing his footsteps following behind her. He gave her a short chase, easily caught up with her, and pinned her to a tree.

Mort held a knife between his teeth. With the point of the blade, he traced along her throat down to her chest. With a quick move, he sliced off her bra. Zari gasped but Mort had already moved the blade downward and pried away the waistband of her panties. He forced his hand inside, touching her sex, then stuck a finger inside her. Before she understood what was happening, he turned her around. Pinned hard against the tree, her nipples rubbed against the rough bark.

Zari yowled. She felt Mort unbuckle his belt, his erection poking her in the back. He ripped her panties down and reached around her, massaging between her legs while poking his rock hard prick against her until it slid inside with one thrust, burying itself deep within her folds. Zari used her arms to shield the tender skin of her breasts and nipples from abrasion while Mort slammed into her from behind. Then he molded his naked body into the curve of her back and slowed his motions, rocking gently before pulling out and ripping off her thong with his teeth. Zari screamed with excitement.

Down to wearing only her boots now, Mort commanded her to escape while he peeled himself out of his pants. He chased her naked around the clearing until Zari collapsed onto a log, laying belly-down over it. Mort mounted her from behind and plowed into her like a jackhammer. They mated until he turned her again, moving her to a tree, and fucked her against the trunk so hard, her legs gave out. She let the climax wash over her, completely present in the moment, then heard him roar as his release shot into her. They sank to the ground and he wrapped his bulging arms around her solid body and held her tight, covering her throat and neck with butterfly kisses.

"I couldn't let you leave for Fiji before following through with what I 'wrote' in that Christmas letter, you know," he explained when they caught their breath.

"True. We couldn't lie to Merrill, not in a Christmas letter. He was so proud when he found out what a bad boy you are," she said and laughed. "If he could see us now."

"Uh, let's not imagine that. But you're right. He would be proud of our knee trembler for sure."

They wobbled back to the blanket with shaky legs, stark naked except for their boots, and let the sun go down over their glistening bodies. They were exhausted, but as soon as they recovered, Zari swung herself onto his flagpole, which reared up as soon as she rubbed her pussy lips against it. She rode him with an unleashed fury while he guided her hips with his hands.

The sensation of the cool evening air brushing over their naked bodies heightened their senses and a powerful climax overcame her once more. She felt her orgasm deep inside her, under her navel, and concentrated on it with every shred of awareness as the spasms washed over and through her. Their primal grunts echoed through the forest, and they mated like animals in the wild, free of any inhibition and restraint. Only after the wave carried them up to its crest and down the other side two more times, did they feel so drained and satisfied that they couldn't imagine ever needing relief again.

After a surprise 'Farewell and Good Luck' party at the bar with the regulars, Zari left on Thursday evening. Mort would be headed for Georgia a week and a half later. He dropped her off at Kennedy Airport in Merrill's truck, and the goodbye at the gate nearly broke their hearts. They sobbed in each other's arms until it was time for Zari to go through security. She had a sixteen hour flight ahead of her, with a brief layover in Los Angeles.

Mort staggered out of the terminal, but before going back to the empty house, he walked the streets of Brooklyn, his heart hurting with every beat. But as he walked, alone with his thoughts, another feeling crept in and illuminated his dark mood, a feeling he translated into happiness, albeit a selfish one.

What they were doing felt right. This was not a breakup, not an end to their love. It was an intercession, necessary to connect to their deepest desires, which needed to be filled before they could even think about others. True, people could be content living a life that selflessly catered to others, but for damaged and strong-willed people like him and Zari, a deeper egoistical desire needed to be addressed before they could fully give of themselves.

125


End file.
